


In Your Honor

by dugindeep (hotsauce)



Category: CW Network RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Corps, Jaeger Pilots, Kaiju, M/M, pilot!Jared, pilot!Jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 01:11:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5027944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotsauce/pseuds/dugindeep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen walked away from the Pan Pacific Defense Corps when it was at the height of its legacy. Five years later, the Kaijus are still a threat and the jaegers are still losing. But one last-ditch effort to save the world brings Jensen face to face with his two greatest loves: Chevy Violet, the machine that's kept him safe for half his life, and Jared Padalecki, the new Commander who's not ready to let Jensen back in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Your Honor

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [SPN_Cinema](http://spn-cinema.livejournal.com/), for the film [Pacific Rim](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1663662/)

_Then_  
It wasn’t like anyone expected world peace any time soon. But creatures rising from the ocean was quite far from the possibility of a new war.

They were ugly monsters, the kaijus, hybrids of animals more tailored to water and those that walked the Earth before the Big Bang. Some had faces like hammerhead sharks with scaled alligator tails. Others were pterodactyl in front with a dozen tentacles out the back. They were the things nightmares were scared of, creatures measuring nearly four stories tall, and hundreds of feet long. Breaking through a rift in the Pacific Ocean floor, they attacked without regularity, except that there never seemed to be an end to the attacks. Shorelines were obliterated and coastal towns razed down to soil. 

There was no feasible defense.

That is until the government backed and funded a program to create a new army, one joined by other nations to stop the dreaded evil that came from thousands of leagues below. Piloting a jaegar became a two-man job. Partners, essential mates, were required to drift and ride through the explosive power of operating these killing machines. Together, pilots would sync everything. Thoughts, movements, memories—everything was open to one’s partner, and drift compatible was more than just getting along. It was a lifetime commitment and only the selected few could effectively manage it to prolonged success.

A decade into the program and progress was a noticeable thing; the creatures were going down, the machines built to destroy. On scale with the kaijus, these jaegers were the new pride of the human race, and the pilots who served inside the cockpit were more than a little idolized.

Which drew Jensen into the program. He’d dreamed about joining the Pan Pacific Defense Corps since he was a little kid watching the victories on TV. At eighteen, he jumped in with two feet forward and eyes wide open, and he excelled immediately. It was a lifelong dream to pilot a jaeger, to have such a profound connection with his copilot that they could mind meld, operate like one kick-ass, efficient kaiju-fighting operation.

Twenty kills in five years was practically a record. But it wasn’t enough; the kaiju were progressing. Mutating maybe. The scientists hadn’t yet figured out how they were rising more quickly, attacking Pacific coasts more frequently and with a strength never seen before. One the jaegers couldn’t keep up with.

As more pilots went down and jaegers were trashed, the program lost its support from both the government and the people. Jensen, too, for he abandoned ship once the chance for survival thinned to next to none.

He knew no one was happy with his decision, least of all his copilot. They were partners for nearly a decade, had known each other for the entirety of their service, but Jensen was hitting his mid-thirties and knew this wasn’t a way to live. It was only a way to die.

What he learned in those next five years, however, is that living didn’t really happen anyway.

 

_Now_

Jensen wobbles on his barstool. An inch or two spills out of his pint of beer, but the rest stays put so he considers it a success. He still hates this chair, though, with its off-kilter feet. Seems like a decent parallel to his life, he figures. Finally gets himself a seat and a couple of cold ones after a long day sweating away another shift, and there’s one leg just ready to crack out from underneath him.

Which it does just two minutes later, and Jensen drops to the ground in a pathetic sprawl.

The bar goes quiet for a few seconds then erupts in a mix of laughter and mumbled gossip about who they’re witnessing having a truly spectacular day.

“Way to go, Maverick!” someone across the bar yells.

Followed by, “Tripping over your own damned feet like a wasted jaeger.”

"Maybe he'll run out like he did from the Corps."

“Don’t worry, folks,” Jensen waves off, trying for affable even while truly embarrassed. “I didn’t break anything.”

“Too bad.”

Jensen smiles tightly and shuffles to the next bar stool. He settles most of his weight forward on the wooden, worn-out bar top, and shakes the now fully-spilled beer from his hands. He asks the bartender for something to clean the mess and she tosses a rag at his face.

Still smiling, and still quite angrily, he mutters, “You serve your country and this is the love you get.”

“Didn’t serve it for too long, now did ya, cowboy?” the bartender asks.

He looks at her for a while, takes in her dark hair and round eyes. While he knows she’s familiar and one of only three servers in this neighborhood bar, he can’t come up with her name. Especially not after as many pints as he’s had. He really wishes he had her name on hand to fling off a nice little tirade about what it really takes to step inside a jaeger, all the unknown after-effects of the drift, where your brain runs on autopilot with your partner inhabiting the same space and the long, listless fall that lingers at the back of your head while you attempt to recover from that kind of psychological invasion. But he knows it’s a lost cause.

He learned that lesson his first year out of the Corps.

People are still laughing here and there, like they’re having a grand chuckle over the sad state of Jensen’s life. Five, six years ago, he and his partner were at the top of the game. They were worldwide super stars who’d taken down the most kaijus in the span of a year. But since then, he’s had months-long stints at odd jobs until he nailed down something more permanent with the East Pacific Development Force.

The government sold it as a way to right what went wrong in the war, but all he’s really doing is working with clean-up crews to clear out damaged lots so everything can be scrapped while the population moves inland.

Sadly, everyone in the area knows his story and reminds him time and time again–especially in this bar.

Like when Yankee Hank, a transplant from New York who brags about moving closer to the war for a great cause, knocks on the bar and yells for Jensen’s attention. “Hey, Maverick! How’s about you tell us another war story? Maybe one that doesn’t end in you fucking up?”

Jensen rolls his eyes and gulps at the fresh beer the bartender gladly takes his money for. “You know what, Hank?” he starts as he slowly turns towards the portly middle aged guy now standing beside him. “You’re right. I did a lot of fucking up. And I did a lot of fucking down. I did a lot of fucking, period. But your mom never complained.”

It takes five minutes for the brawl to start and end, and this is how Jensen ends up on his ass, outside, in the pouring rain.

Something drips down into his eyes and he thinks it’s just the rain. After blinking and losing momentary sight, Jensen realizes it’s blood. He rolls over to his knees and hunches down and away from the rain as he touches his eye and cheek.

Red rain runs between his fingers and it hurts to blink away the wetness spilling over his head and into his face. He wipes away the bloody cut under his eye then blinks when there’s a sudden stoppage of water falling on his back and a handkerchief in his eye line.

He blinks through the remaining rain and blood, and sees the delicately embroidered grey _PPDC_ in perfect white fabric.

Like his day could get any worse, now he’s got the Pan Pacific Defense following him around.

Maybe something about misrepresenting the Corps, even all these years later. Maybe they’re unhappy that he’s moved on to working with the East Pacific Development Force. Or maybe he’s just got the dumb luck of running into his former commander with that dark, serious face and even darker eyes that never give anything away. Seconds after losing a pathetic bar fight and Jensen feels his day going from terrible to exceptionally shitty.

Commander Idris Elba was the meanest son of a bitch when Jensen went through Basic Training, but had quickly taken a liking to Jensen once he’d proven himself in his jaeger. Though Elba wouldn’t let on much beyond short, sly smiles or a quick pat on the back.

“You need a hand up, ranger?” No matter how helpful Elba tries to be, it sounds patronizing.

Covering his embarrassment, Jensen chuckles and gets to his feet of his own accord, now protected by the man’s wide umbrella. “You ask any of the assholes inside and I ain’t been a ranger for a second of my life.”

“They must know a different man then.” Elba lifts the handkerchief higher. “Looks like you need this.”

“I need a lot of things, but a visit from the Corps is furthest from the list.” Jensen clears more blood away then swipes his dirty hands on the sides of his even dirtier work pants. “I heard the government’s shutting you folks down … I guess you've got a lot of time on your hands to come visiting old ghosts.”

“Something like that.”

Jensen takes in his old commander standing as straight and impenetrable as a brick wall, hand still clutching the handle of the umbrella, and appearing completely unnerved as rain drips down the shoulders of his dress blues. Even after five years of being out of the Corps, Jensen feels a bit under the man’s orders so he stands straighter and pulls his shoulders back. “Except I’ve never known you to do anything fun, so I’m assuming this visit is more business than pleasure.”

Elba nods minutely and almost smiles. “That you would be right about. Should we head back in to talk in a drier place?”

Chuckling, Jensen shakes his head. “I highly doubt I’m welcome back there. Like, ever.”

“Then I guess I’ll just get to the point.” Elba pauses dramatically, as if he’s gearing up for a big speech, but all he says is, “We’re bringing you back in.”

Jensen raises an eyebrow. “Since when are traitors welcome in the Corps?”

“I didn’t call you a traitor.”

“Everyone else did when I walked out. I wouldn’t blame you, though. Plenty of people have called me worse.”

Instead of replying to that, Elba coolly states his intention again. “We need you back in our program. One last dance. We need our best.”

Jensen swallows as he thinks back to the glory days, a long time back when he was at the height of his potential and there was nothing but clear skies ahead of him. Thunder and lightning off in the distance remind him of how far he’s moved on since then. “I’m sure you’ll do fine without me.”

Elba glances around as if he doesn’t care what Jensen has to say on the matter. “I’ve already got Rosenbaum and Welling back.”

Four years before Jensen left the Corps, those two were recruited by the Department of Defense to help design better jaegers, which was a far better excuse for leaving than fear.

With a snort, Jensen lets his shoulders drop, as he wants to pull away from this conversation, wants to forget about the past and continue on, even if pathetically. “They’re probably tearing up the barracks.”

“Hodge and Cassidy are still around.”

“And drinking all the good liquor,” Jensen easily dismisses as well.

“Jensen,” Elba says carefully with a long look.

A chill runs down Jensen's spine, chasing his mind back to the solid partnership he'd shared inside his jaeger. After a rough swallow, he manages to ask fairly levelly, “And what about Jared?”

“He’s there, too.”

There's no way Jensen can believe his old partner is feeling good about any part of this idea. “And he’s okay with you pulling out all the stops and returning?”

“He never left. Been with us the whole time.”

He’s not sure why it bothers him, but it does. Jensen walked away from the program; it’s not unlikely that Jared found himself another copilot. Still … Jensen feels confused and troubled by thinking about it. “He is, huh?”

Elba suddenly seems happy to share the news. “He’s Commander now.”

“Jeez,” Jensen laughs, trying to ignore the idea that Jared’s trajectory continued onward while Jensen’s took a nosedive. “What’s that make you then?”

“General.”

He immediately knows there’s hardly any room to debate with a general, especially one who’s able to track Jensen all the way to Alaska. Who knows where Elba would go to corner Jensen next time? “So, my arguing on this whole point is moot, ain’t it?”

Elba slowly smiles and it’s only a little bit scary, if Jensen really admits it.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Jensen grumbles. After a moment, he looks around him, unimpressed by the mass of rain filling in potholes that litter much of this coastal town, thanks to one of the first attacks. “So Jared’s stepping down to fly again?”

“Not quite. He’s training new hopefuls, looking for your new partner.”

“Well, that sounds promising,” Jensen deadpans. “Being thrown back into a machine with a perfect stranger.”

“Are you in?” Elba asks, no bullshit or needling. Just straightforward and expectant.

Which makes Jensen slowly nod.

Later he’ll acknowledge that he’s more than a little excited at the opportunity.

 

Elba tells Jensen that he can go home to tie up loose ends and pack then meet up at the nearby airport to head out west to the Corps’ new facility across the Pacific. Sad fact is that Jensen’s life is nothing but loose ends and he actually doesn’t own much in the way of clothes, so all he does is sleep terribly for a few hours then call Elba at dawn to get the show on the road.

The helicopter’s blades are too loud for any conversation, which only makes Jensen’s mind roam the longer they’re in the air. He thinks about what kind of homecoming he’ll receive once they’ve landed. There’s a small corner of his brain that’s holding out hope that it’s a good one, where everyone will smile and glad-hand one another, excited to be back in the same space. Of course, the rest of him is jittery with the same nerves that wouldn’t let him rest and had filled his sleep with worry of how little pleasure anyone will take in his presence.

Once the chopper’s hit the ground and he’s got his knapsack over his shoulder, Jensen’s anxiety cools a bit as he feels sudden comfort at being back on base. Not the same one, but it’s just like the place where he spent nearly half his life. It's all sense memory at this point. Sun that shone down when they played touch football out on the jet landing pad; cool water soothing aches and pains after diving off the side of the brig; fresh salt air that filled his nose the first time he landed. Fond memories, all of them.

Still, some on the landing strip don’t even look his way; others offer polite smiles, but most double-take then roll their eyes or give him dirty looks. He tells himself he doesn’t care; he’s finally back.

It’s the same once inside the industrial compound, with the mess of people moving this way and that on dedicated paths. Some pay him no mind while others are still bothered to see him.

He tries to focus, instead, on the height of the reinforced walls, stretching a few stories upward with exposed beams and ceilings, which makes everything echo in the space. He doesn’t think he can even hear himself think. There are a handful of hallways on his left and another set on his right that seem to narrow into small tunnels the further they go. And clear ahead of him, the great hall comes to an end with a wall and two-story doors that are mechanically heavy and loud as they pull open.

Elba silently leads Jensen through the doorway and into the belly of the complex where staff are busy at the main console that stretches for nearly a football field with a clear glass wall ahead that shows off the jaeger stations.

Jensen’s breath catches in his throat. The wide expanse ahead is even wider and taller than the front hall, but it’s also filled with technicians working on various levels to rehab the jaegers. And straight ahead is Chevy Violet, the nearly 300-foot weapon that Jensen rode for a decade. The last time he saw her, she was little more than mottled black trash as they’d lost their third battle in as many months and had to retreat as another wave of jaegers came in to salvage the fight.

Today, Chevy Violet is gleaming under the lights hanging from the ceiling, and sparks fly away from her shield as techs seal her seams. Jensen sees it more like fireworks declaring her return.

“Ackles!” is shouted just before he’s attacked from behind. Someone jumps at his back, makes him stumble forward, then wraps slender arms and legs around him in a vise grip.

In a matter of seconds, he’s yanking onto one arm, twisting his torso away, and flinging the person to the ground with a loud _umph!_

“What kind of hello is that?” Katie Cassidy complains with an over-pronounced frown.

Jensen still has his knee digging into her hip and his hands holding her arms tight to her chest, but he smiles a little at seeing his old comrade. “You jumped me like a monkey. What kind of hello is _that_?”

Cassidy slips her leg up to push it down on Jensen’s chest, spinning them over to swap positions. This time, Jensen’s the one releasing a weary _umph!_ and the group around them are laughing. He hopes it’s not at him.

With a grin, Cassidy pats his cheek. “You need a shave, Ackles.”

Jensen flicks her shin, bare below the twist she’s put into the hem of her uniform pants. “As do you.”

“Cassidy! Ackles!” Elba orders.

The _get off the floor and stop screwing around_ is implied in the roughness of the Commander's— _General’s_ —tone. They follow suit immediately and Jensen then notices that the communications team is getting back to the console as if they couldn’t care less that Jensen has returned.

His reception seems to have landed a bit in between what he had looked forward to and what he’d feared all along.

Either Cassidy senses that or she’s bored already; either way, she drags them both out of the communications bay and off to the left. The setup feels familiar to the base they’d all called home back in Northern California, and he’s starting to feel it out in his head. They’re heading right to the barracks.

“Figured you’d need a nice round of beauty sleep before the whole rigmarole tomorrow.”

“What’s the good General got on tap for us?” he asks, walking alongside her and resolutely ignoring the odd glances from everyone they pass.

“ _Commander_ Padalecki has a full day of training on the schedule.”

Jensen ignores how his stomach flops at the mention of Jared’s rank, let alone his name. “Sounds like a good chance for us to work out the kinks.”

“Speak for yourself, Ackles,” Cassidy admonishes as she stops at a door. “Hodge and I have been in tip-top shape since you ran out for a pack of cigarettes and conveniently never came back.”

“Wait, look,” he tries to explain, but she waves him off.

“Don’t bother, seriously. I’m over it.” Somehow, it seems both dismissive and earnest. “Others really aren’t, but I’m actually happy to see your pretty little mug. It’ll be fun to ride in formation again.”

Jensen smiles a bit and fondly recalls the missions they’d taken together.

Before his mind runs too far into the past, Cassidy smacks his duffle, then his cheek. “You settle in, scrub that pretty face, then head on down for chow.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he happily replies with a quick salute. Just as she’s dashed back into the fuss of people walking by, and as he’s bringing his hand down from his forehead, he spots a familiar dark mop of hair far above the mass.

People turn this way and that, which grants Jensen a better look at Jared with his face turned down to talk to a brunette female cadet in casual greys. He continues to watch and lets his memories flow warmly over him. In seconds, he can imagine dozens of Jared’s smiles pre- and post-drift, high on the thrill of piloting Chevy Violet and carrying the war.

It’s gone once Jared’s head picks up, eyes combing the area, and he catches sight of Jensen.

Slowly, Jensen smiles and tips his head, starts to salute the new commander and take a step forward. The cadet turns and her dark eyes widen when she sees Jensen watching them. Quick as the whole moment has happened, the cadet is saluting Jared, he’s nodding back at her, then she’s heading right for Jensen as Jared disappears around a corner.

Jensen is still watching cadets turning around that same corner, waiting for Jared to reappear, when the cadet stops right in front of him.

“Captain Ackles,” she says in greeting, voice tight and straightforward.

He wonders if she’s fresh out of training with rough directives for titles etched into her brain or if she’s just that committed to the Corps. She barely comes up to Jensen’s chest and her face is bright with youth, yet her shoulders are perfectly parallel to the floor. Jensen is quite impressed with the straight lines of her salute and the rest of her uniform as she lets her hands set at her sides.

Jensen half-asses his salute with a small smile. “At ease, cadet.”

“Major,” she corrects immediately. “Major Cortese, the Commander’s right-hand man.”

“Or woman,” he jokes, but she doesn’t budge. “What can I do you for, Major?”

She gestures at the still-closed door to Jensen’s new home and it’s then that Jensen sees the clipboard tucked tightly in her hand. He wonders what kind of orders she’s on here, or even under Jared. “After you, Captain?”

Jensen gets the door open and takes the quick tour around the standard bunk room with a cot in one corner, cabinetry in the other, and a stainless steel sink attached to the wall. He always thought the barracks were more prison than comfort, especially with its vaguely wet and metal smell in the air. But it served as home for half his life.

When he faces Cortese, he smiles. “Smells just like I remember.”

“If you insist, sir.” Then she gets down to business, relaying the schedule for the rest of the afternoon, evening, and into the next day. It all includes more hours of training than Jensen’s had since Basic, but he can’t argue until she mentions that she’s his guide here on base.

“For what?” he asks.

“To acclimate you back to the Corps, sir.”

“To accli—do they really think I forgot how I spent eighteen years of my life?”

“Seventeen.”

He frowns and takes a quick breath. “Seventeen, fine. I tend to round up a little.”

“So I’ve been warned.”

“By who?”

“The Commander.”

Jensen licks his bottom lip with annoyance then bites it with the sudden worry over how those few seconds of seeing Jared in the hall went—or rather, how Jared went away as soon as they’d happened. He also worries over the next two days and if he’s going to be treated like a Private, First Class.

It’s something like that when Major Cortese straightens her stance and shoulders, and gives him a curt nod. “Mess at 1800.”

“What if I’m not hungry?” he asks, just to see how she would respond.

“That’s between you and your stomach,” she replies swiftly. Then she salutes, turns on her heel, and heads in the direction Jared had gone.

Her exit is as sudden as Jared’s, and Jensen is sure she’ll be a thorn in his side. 

 

In the Mess Hall, Jensen slides between tables and finds that he’s quite unwelcome at any of them. Cassidy is off to his left, but she’s also flanked by Hodge, Rosenbaum, and Welling, and the three men don’t seem too interested in letting him near their table.

After a slow trip around the room, he sits down at a corner table where a plain-clothes, short, scruffy-faced guy sits. The man’s hair is as much of a mess as his clothes - which aren’t that bad, but considering they’re on base and everyone else in the room adheres to strict codes, he seems quite out of place.

The guy glances up like he barely minds Jensen joining him, but then he makes a double-take and stutters with a harsh laugh. “Oh, yes, let’s make CD’s life even worse and stow him away with the outcast.”

Jensen furrows his brow and leans closer when he realizes those seated around them are staring oddly; he’s not up for inviting them to a conversation that is this strange right off the bat. “CD?”

Pulling at his cuffed shirtsleeves, the guy reveals an elegantly-scripted tattoo across his inner forearm. _Charlie Danger_ it reads and Jensen lifts an eyebrow in return. “CD, Charlie Danger,” the guy says harshly, voice gravelly yet nervous. “Get it? Good.” And just as quickly as he’s bared the tattoo, he covers it up again.

“Your name is Charlie Danger?” Before the guy can answer, Jensen logs the overall look of the man, including the yellow name badge clipped to a pocket of his hooded jacket. The stack of files at the guy’s elbow are also a big sign, and Jensen laughs. “We have a scientist named Charlie Danger?”

The guy’s not happy with that and rolls his eyes while leaning closer to whisper. “It’s Day, the last name. First name’s still Charlie, but I was an idiot at 18 and made a bad decision with some ink. Like you weren’t a moron when you were 18.”

“I joined the Corps when I was 18,” Jensen replies plainly.

Charlie seems to think on that, nodding this way and that, then shrugs. “Seems about equal for stupidity.” He then reveals a tattoo on his other forearm, this one more menacing yet beautiful in its strong lines and the sweeping curves of tentacles. “Got this one when I was 35. Not such a stupid mistake that time, huh?”

It’s a kaiju, looking a lot like a Category III Jensen and Jared took down near Manila a few years into their run. Jensen’s not sure a permanent reminder of this monster is any stupider than what he did when he was 35—walk away.

Suddenly, the Mess grows quiet and Jensen glances up to see Jared entering the room with Major Cortese at his side. Jared’s eyes comb the room and stop at their table, first focusing on Charlie with a quick nod, then stalling when he catches Jensen. Jared looks back to Charlie and makes a quick motion with his fingers.

“What’s up with the Major?” Jensen asks quietly, wondering how tightly she’s tied to Jared’s side … and wanting to get dirt on Jared, himself.

“The Commander’s partner? You don’t wanna go there. No one goes there.”

“What do you mean … partner?”

Charlie doesn’t answer; he’s quickly pulling his files into one arm and balancing his half-eaten dinner tray in the other.

"What’re you in a rush for?”

“The Commander calls? You jump. I’m surprised you don’t realize that already, with your history and all.”

Then he’s gone, following Jared and the Major, who both give Jensen a long look before they go out to the hallway.

Jensen’s really beginning to loathe hasty exits.

 

 

“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” Jensen says as kindly as possible when he runs into the Major outside the fight room the next morning.

Cortese slowly lifts her head from where she’d been busy with her clipboard, and takes her time to assess him. “You think?”

“I was pondering it,” he says with a shrug. “What do you think?”

“I think you look like shit.” A beat later, she adds, “Sir.”

Jensen considers calling her out for her sass, but there’s a part of him that is rather impressed. And she’s probably very right after he had a rough night of sleep. Those restless dreams were full of his past with the Defense and second chances slipping through his fingers. Moving on, he nods at Genevieve and grants her a small smile. “That’s fair.”

“You need coffee.”

He recognizes that she says it, rather than asks it, so he nods again and follows when she kicks into a quick march towards the Mess Hall.

“So what’s on the schedule today?

“Mess at 0600, auditions at 0700, and Mess again at 1200,” she recites as if she were reading her clipboard. The piece remains tucked at her side, fingers roped around the edge, but she’s facing forward with her face as tight as her ponytail.

Jensen steps faster to keep up with her as she weaves between other rangers and staff heading in all directions to start their day. “Wait, wait … what do you mean auditions?”

“Sir, yes, sir. Auditions at 0700.”

“Whose idea was that?”

“The Commander’s.”

“Jared?” Jensen shrieks then haughtily laughs. “That asshole is making _me_ audition? Who does he think he is?”

Genevieve comes to an abrupt stop and salutes the blue suit standing tall before them. “Pretty sure he thinks he’s the Commander.”

Jensen sighs. “He’s still an asshole,” he mutters before really catching up to the situation. A second later he’s staring at Jared, face to face and toe to toe.

He thinks Jared looks older, worn down, tired, even pissed.

He also thinks Jared is just as beautiful as when they were a bunch of cocky rangers fighting evil together.

“Captain Ackles,” Jared says tightly, “Is there a problem?”

“Jared,” he murmurs, caught between those long ago memories he dreamt throughout the night and the sudden sight of Jared staying solid like steel that refuses to budge.

“Commander Padalecki,” Genevieve says, still at attention with her hand at her temple in salute.

“At ease, Major.”

Jensen belatedly—and quite lamely—salutes Jared. It feels all kinds of wrong. Back in their days together, they stayed up all hours of the night, drank until Jared became maudlin, then jumped out of their bunks at sunrise to sail in their jaeger.

“Is there are a problem here?” Jared asks her, and she quickly shakes her head with a respectful _no, sir_.

“Yeah, there is,” Jensen says. “Why do I have to audition?”

Jared blinks at him and tilts his head just a few degrees. “Excuse me?”

“Auditions? She said I have to audition at 0700.” He looks to Genevieve, but she remains stoic with her chin raised and eyes focused straight ahead of her. “Oh, don’t act like you didn’t say that.”

“I didn’t,” she replies.

“You little –” he stops himself, especially after having come to some level of respect when she first appeared on his doorstep.

“I didn’t say you had to audition. I said you had to attend auditions.”

Jensen laughs and looks to Jared, who is watching him but showing no interest either way. “Am I going crazy?”

“Yes, you are,” Genevieve says and lets out a tiny smirk that she straightens when Jared clears his throat.

“Cortese,” Jared admonishes her, and now it’s Jensen’s time to smirk. But it doesn’t last long, because Jared stared right him. “Do we have a problem, Captain?”

Jensen attempts to smile, yet realizes it doesn’t feel right. Not with his old partner glaring at him like this, as if they hadn’t spent half their lives side by side, sharing the cockpit, life, and much more while in the drift. “No, of course not, but Jared—”

“Good, then I believe you have breakfast before we meet in the Training Room at 0700. You best eat before you get irritable and say something you’ll regret.”

He lets out a breathy chuckle, nervous with how terribly their first meeting in years is going. “Jared, hey, why don’t we grab breakfast together and then maybe—”

“Very good, ranger.”

Jared makes another one of his quick exits with Genevieve following, so Jensen is left in the hallway to finish his own thoughts.

Jensen watches Jared’s back as he leaves and mumbles, “Then maybe we can catch up and talk.”

Once Jared is gone around a corner, Jensen sighs. “Or maybe not.”

 

 

In the Mess Hall, he finds Katie and Aldis at the same table as last night but with fewer companions. Jensen takes a seat on Katie’s bench and nods at Aldis with a smile, testing the man’s opinions—and memories.

Katie smiles like she always has and even knocks their shoulders together while Aldis finishes chewing part of a biscuit and watches them. “How was your first night back on the boat?”

“It’s kinda big for a boat,” Jensen jokes about the cruiser.

“Kinda big for a whole lotta things,” Aldis says.

Jensen nods, remembering their saying back in basic training. “But not big enough for egos.” He flings a two-fingered salute towards Aldis. “Never was and still ain’t.”

“No, son, it ain’t,” he replies with a small smile, and Jensen knows they’re on okay ground.

It should be a nice win in his pocket, but Jensen still burns from his interaction with Jared in the hallway. He falls back into that conversation and pictures Jared’s face, relives the tone of his voice, even feels tendrils of ice slink along his skin when he thinks about the wall Jared had up between them.

Katie elbows him, dragging him back to the present. “Hello?”

“Yeah, sorry. Just … what’s up?”

“So you ready for auditions?”

He rolls his eyes and stabs his fork into scrambled eggs that crumble under the attack. “What kind of bullshit is that? They asked me back. And now they’re asking me to audition?”

“Uh, well, they didn’t really do that,” Aldis says with his eyebrows furrowed.

Katie shushes him, all while Jensen sits forward and nudges her away when she fights to grab his attention. “They didn’t do what?”

“Ask you to audition,” Katie insists while Aldis says, “Ask you back.”

Jensen stares at Aldis and searches the man’s dark eyes for a crack in that steady gaze. His stomach turns and his head spins to think that Elba came for him at that bar, but maybe he wasn’t really welcome here again.

Katie coughs uncomfortably and picks up her fork and knife again. Aldis does, too, eating even while staring right back at Jensen.

“What?” Aldis asks blandly, “Did you want to hear you were a first round draft pick? After you went out in the middle of the night?”

Jensen sets his jaw, realizing that just like with Katie, it doesn’t matter how much time has passed or what any of them say, there will always be this thorn stubbornly making its way through the Corps. And it’s called Jensen Ackles, the Goldenboy Who Quit.

He snorts and shakes his head, feeling like he’s about to give up on the day. Even when it’s only 0625. “No one’s gonna forgive that, huh?”

“Especially not if you’re back to dance with Chevy Violet.”

A look of anger flashes over Aldis’ face before he settles back into the calm, relaxed guy Jensen called a good neighbor long ago.

“It’s not a big deal,” Katie insists while stealing a forkful of hash browns from Aldis’ plate. “It happened and now it’s our last march before the end of the world. There won’t be any grudges in the afterlife, no matter who was invited or who walked on.”

Jensen knows she’s doing her best to put it to rest, but he’s still bothered with the idea he wasn’t really wanted back. “You know, Elba came for me.” Aldis and Katie each pause mid-chew to look at him. “I’m not some third-string walk-on freshman here. _Elba_ asked me to come back.”

“Yeah, well,” Aldis sighs, “he’s the only one the Commander has to listen to these days.”

“So Jared didn’t want me back?”

“Not a lot of people did.” After a beat, Aldis adds, “Sorry, bro, but you know how it goes around here. Drift to the death.”

Jensen has no answer to that as that’s exactly why he left—to avoid the end of that unsaid motto among the rangers who ever called this cruiser home. He also has no way to reason Jared not wanting him here aside from all that’s sat between them, anger and confusion rotting long enough that there’s nothing left but brittle bone. And Jensen knows he hasn’t been here a full day yet, but just maybe he’s already set to break.

 

 

After breakfast, Jensen meanders through the training wing and fondly smiles at the sparring room where Tom and Mike are swinging left and right before Mike lands a swing-kick to the back of Tom’s knee and sweeps them both off the floor to grapple on the mat. There’s another couple boxing in the other corner, swinging and blocking in perfect timing without landing a hand on one another. Jensen’s impressed with the two women’s footwork and their ease at marching in circles as they take turns jabbing and round housing, while the other always sets her forearm up or ducks out of the way just in time.

Suddenly, the blond one slows and watches Jensen, now leaning against the doorway with his elbows and ankles crossed to appreciate the physicality in their sparring. The brunette pops her partner right in the nose then screeches in surprise.

“Jesus fuck, Bri! Why’d to stop blocking?”

Bri—the blond—is spread out on her back with one hand slowly coming up to cover her nose. Nasally, she complains, “Because of Ackles’s dumb face.”

Jensen hustles across the room to help her up, even while he’s thoroughly confused with how he’s to blame.

“If he didn’t look so pretty,” she whines as both her partner and Jensen get her up to her feet. When they pull away, Bri winces. “I mean, seriously, Kim, Look at him.”

Instantly, he remembers them. Buckmaster and Rhodes, the first ladies to drift together. Legends in their own rights, badass pilots who served the war well. Until the next class strode in and the women sought the sanctuary of home and family. _Life_.

“Yeah, seriously, Ackles,” Kim tacks on with a playful shove. “What’re you doing here?”

They obviously remember him, and kindly. Still, it’s a bit awkward to take in their delighted smiles at his presence, juxtaposed against their tough-as-nails stance of wide legs and arms crossed at their chests.

Jensen glances over his shoulder because the whole room is silent with Tom and Mike breaking to watch Jensen and the ladies. He shrugs as he turns back to Brianna and Kim. “Just taking a short tour before auditions.”

Mike snorts loud enough to be heard across the space, and Jensen shots him a dark look. Tom, too, when he sighs and rolls his eyes.

“Well, I meant back _here_ , but okay,” Kim says. She has one eyebrow angled sharply up towards her hairline, but she’s smirking something fun and devilish. “Glad to have an extra set of hands.”

“And a mighty nice set of hands. Biceps and shoulders, too.” Brianna’s eyebrow and smirk match her partner’s, like she’s utterly delighted to be objectifying Jensen.

He waves off the praises with a light chuckle then eyes them for a long moment. “You’re the first to offer a kind sentiment since I’ve been here.”

“You know what I say?” Kim asks with a smart twist to her smile. “Water under the bridge.”

“For sure,” Brianna adds. “Build a bridge, and walk over it.”

“Get over it,” Kim subtly corrects.

“Either way?” Brianna insists with a cocky nature, maybe a little overdone to cover up her mistake. “You’re still moving over the water that’s under that bridge. So the metaphor still works.”

Jensen decides to leave before more is said. He inhales sharply and flashes a pert smile. “Yeah, okay, ladies. It’s been nice catching up.”

He leaves with them shouting well wishes at him, along with Mike and Tom once again stopping their work to watch him. The thought of tossing them the finger flashes, but he figures that’s no way to try to re-engage with the mission.

When he reaches the training room, Jared is there. Standing at the front of the room, his feet are perfectly shoulder-width apart, which is still quite a long space, and his shoulders sit straight beneath his uniform, with his hands tucked together at his back. His head is bowed with wisps of hair trickling down over his face, and Jensen’s mind drifts back to another lifetime.

One when Jared was in a different uniform, a totally different shell of himself. When they’d spend daylight out on the deck for morning runs, afternoon football games, and dusk breaks. Together, they would sit at the edge of the deck, air sifting through their hair, orange sun on their faces, legs dangling over a sea that was still on their side of the world.

When they weren’t up in his hair, Jared’s aviators reflected all of Jensen’s smiles, always reminding Jensen of just how much fun they had as partners, best friends, and one another’s lifeline.

There was never a good word for it, and they never bothered finding one. But Jared was Jensen’s entire life, maybe still is, when memories creep up on him. They were together, and now standing so far apart without a real conversation to share, Jensen recognizes how long ago those times were.

Jensen thinks about calling Jared’s name, running inside to hug him, patting him on the back, hard, to remind them both of all they had back then. When Jared suddenly glances up and meets Jensen’s eyes, his feet take action. Jared’s eyes flash with surprise then worry before shutting down. Jensen stops just as quickly as he’d entered the room, finally noticing Genevieve far off to the side.

“Captain Ackles,” she says firmly.

He comes to a stuttering stop then puts his frame at attention and nods at her. “Major.” A beat later, “Commander.”

“You’re early,” Jared points out with something like disappointment.

Uselessly, Jensen checks his watch; he knows he’s early, knows there’s not much else for him to do until he figures out how he’s going to drift without his perfect match beside him, and yet also knows he can’t and won’t say any of that.

“Eager for auditions, are we?”

Jared’s stoic face and tone haven’t broken, sending ripples of tension through the room. Jensen is happy, however, when he recognizes the way Jared’s eyes dip this way and that to observe Jensen. “Yes, sir,” Jensen finally replies with a smooth nod and smile. “Ready to get back in action.”

“Good. It’ll be good to find your new partner.”

“If you say so.”

Jared _hmm_ s and turns to Cortese, who keeps looking between each of them without a sign of judgement on her face. Just readiness for what to do next.

“Sir?” she asks quietly when Jared fails to give any direction.

Jensen closely watches them, maybe taking more time on Jared to pick up clues on what’s happening in this silent exchange. Or even to find his in to say something real.

Finally, Jared breathes deeply and grants Cortese a curt bob of his head. “I think you’ve got a handle on things here, Major.” He surprises both Jensen and the major by quickly turning on his heel and marching to the door.

“Commander?” Genevieve calls out just as Jensen says, “Jared, wait.”

She’s confused, but Jensen knows the brush off all too well.

Jared stops just in the doorway and shifts just enough to eye Jensen. So he takes his chance to call out to Jared, “Excuse me, Captain?”

Genevieve whispers, “Commander,” as a correction and Jensen laughs harshly.

“Oh, c’mon, really? Like we don’t have enough history between us to just use the names our mamas gave us?”

Jared regards him with wide eyes and a high brow line. His shock and disrespect resonates in the pucker of his lips.

“Look,” Jensen takes a deep breath before really getting down to things, “I know I’m not your favorite person right now, and there’s a lot for us to ta—”

“Captain,” Jared commands sharply, “I suggest you reconsider your tone and who you’re talking to.”

 _My best friend_ , he thinks. _My soulmate_.

Jared then looks beyond him to Cortese. “Major, you’re in charge. Keep your rangers in line.”

“Yes, sir,” she responds immediately, though doesn’t say anything more until the rest of the unit enters the room just before starting time.

Jensen stews off to the side with a wide bubble of personal space. He’s further angered that no one stands near him, but he’s also grateful to use that anger to ramp up the aggression to train and fight.

The first few guys who could possibly be his new partner seem to be physical replicas of Jared, in height and bulk, but they’re no match to the reality. Jensen easily tackles guy after guy to the mat and forces them to tap out.

Most laughable is when Wade comes forward with a sway in his steps and smirk on his face. Jensen stares at the man who stands nearly a foot below him, and doesn't bother to lift a hand in defense. So when Wade comes running at him with his eyes narrowed and his face in a mean grimace, Jensen just waits until the guy is close enough to sock him right in the nose.

Wade goes down like a sack of potatoes and Jensen remains calm and steady as he looks down at him. 

"Well," Jensen says plainly.

Wade groans, even while others pick him up and drag him away.

Cortese sends Jensen a hard look, and he decides to act with a bit more decorum over the whole situation. So, Jensen crouches into position before Levy rushes at him, and it’s a quick spin, tuck, and flip to toss the guy on his back, knocking the wind out of him.

He does the same thing four more times before the Major calls an end to Levy’s torture.

There’s little reaction around the room. A few runs of grumbling and murmuring, and, surprisingly, Brianna and Kim clap respectfully.

Penikett starts off well enough, mixing up his jabs and uppercuts, swinging wide then short with sharp knees and leg sweeps, but Jensen skirts away from each and every strike.

One finally lands on his shoulder, yet Jensen gets the upper hand when he turns, wraps his elbow around Penikett’s bicep, and twists away then up his back. It gives Jensen the leverage to pitch them both down to the mat, Penikett face-first into the blue vinyl covering. Jensen shuffles over to cover Penikett before he can get up to his elbows, then wraps his arm around the guy’s neck and rolls them over so Jensen can wrap his legs around wide hips and thighs to minimize further movement.

A few shocked calls break up the throbbing heartbeat in Jensen’s ears, but he doesn’t let up. In fact, Jensen squeezes tighter, everywhere, and only stops when Penikett taps out.

Nominally, applause welcomes Jensen up to his feet, yet he still knows there are non-believers in the room who are rolling eyes and badmouthing him under hushed complaints.

Jensen stands tall, shakes out his shoulder and head, and then takes a ready position when Cortese calls for Stephen Amell.

The new contender steps forward with a grin and offers Jensen a hand to shake that Jensen slaps away.

“Just a couple of Texas boys,” Amell says. “You had luck with one before.”

“I wouldn’t go relying on luck, buddy,” Jensen replies through gritted teeth.

“I see how it’s gonna be.”

“I don’t think you do.” Jensen skips to the side when Amell leans in to start. They dance around one another, Amell watching each of Jensen’s movements, especially when he fakes a strike or makes a quick jump forward without getting too close.

Jensen takes a defensive position before quickly shuffling to his left and watching for the real attack.

Amell laughs derisively. “All I’m seeing here is someone who likes to run away.”

He narrows his eyes and smiles inside when Amell takes the moment to charge with a swift kick to Jensen’s thigh. It unbalances him for a few seconds, makes Jensen stumble long enough that Amell gets an arm around Jensen’s back and tugs back on Jensen’s shoulder. It’s not enough to stop Jensen, though, and he turns quickly with a knee to Amell's side and an open-palmed strike at his chin, forcing him to stutter back a few feet.

Jensen takes position again while Amell tweaks his head to the side then sizes Jensen up.

“I’m not giving up that easy,” Amell says.

“Good.” Jensen bites the inside of his mouth to stop a smile, but he lets it out when Amell rushes forward and tackles him so loosely that Jensen can once again turn out of the hold so they flip over a few times with Jensen ending up on top as Amell tries to slide away. “Where do you think you’re going?” Jensen mocks just before trapping Amell's shoulder with his legs coming up to flatten the guy’s arm down in an arm bar.

Amell’s face twists in pain but he doesn’t try to stop it. He fights, sure, but there’s little room to maneuver with Jensen’s quick adjustments in the hold to pull the forearm and threaten to pop the elbow forward.

The crowd now gets loud. It’s split between each of the rangers, and Jensen feeds off the excitement filling the room. He now beams at the angle of Amell’s arm, the sweat popping up all across the guy’s face, and the bright red tint of his skin.

“You giving up that easy?” Jensen asks. “Because I’m happy to let you.”

Amell tightens up everywhere, stops fighting, and is probably assessing the current predicament. Instead of doing anything constructive, he grunts, “Goddamn traitorous asshole.”

A whistle blows just before Cortese shouts, “Stop! That’s enough!”

Jensen ignores her and pulls away, letting go of Amell's arm last so he can fling the guy pathetically down to the ground. He crouches over him and spits on the mat mere inches from Amell's face. “And that traitorous asshole just kicked your ass. How’re you feeling now?”

Amell swings at him and Jensen tugs on the injured arm hard enough to make him yell in pain.

“I said that’s enough!” Cortese shouts even louder and the room goes quiet.

Just a tad bit out of breath, Jensen jumps up and glares at Amell, still laid out on the mat. "And I was just getting started."

"Everyone out," she orders then shrieks her whistle. The major adds, "Now!" when folks don’t immediately move. As Jensen follows the crowd, she calls for him. "Not so fast, Ackles!"

He slowly turns back around and offers up a smile—albeit, a pretty shitty one. "I thought class was dismissed?"

"No attitude, no bull. You're on my shit list now."

"Just _now_?"

She marches up to him and, even with the huge height difference, her anger is enough to bring Jensen down a peg or two. "I may not be the Commander, but he put me in charge. And under my orders, you will show up and be at the highest of standards. If you're going to be here, then you're giving one hundred percent."

Jensen stands a little straighter, irked by her implication that he's not dedicated to the cause. It wasn't the easiest of decisions to leave all those many years ago, but walking back through these halls has been even harder. "You think I came back here all set for this dumb suicide mission without being committed?"

"It's not a suicide mission! We're fighting for the survival of this planet."

He laughs, at her, at the words, at the fact that he’s bothering to be angered by it all. "That fight has been going on for a long time, sweetheart, and I've seen a lot of good people die for the cause. So don't go around thinking you've got any idea what kind of sacrifice it takes to be here."

"I know what kind of sacrifice it is.”

“Oh, really?”

“I've sat in those machines, for a long time after you _quit_. So don’t go assuming I’m unfit for my position just because I’m a woman, or because I’m seen as just the Commander’s receptionist."

Jensen steps back, considering her words and the strong stance in her legs and shoulders. She allows no room for confusion, but he still questions it. For all that he's new again, he's certain he would've heard somewhere about Cortese being a pilot.

"And why don't you anymore?" he asks.

"That's none of your business. Or anyone else's." Cortese softens her harsh look, even with her physicality firm in defense against him. "But no matter what happened in our jaeger, I stuck around."

"You, too, huh?" Jensen laughs bitterly. "Well, I'm so glad y'all are so _welcoming_ and are begging me to be a part of the whole charade. No one wants me around, then maybe I'll just walk out, huh?"

Cortese flinches from his words, yet there’s no arguing with him. 

And her chilly silence makes him want to leave even more. 

His words had crept out far too soon for him to consider; now that they’re out? He's ready to pack up what few belongings he brought with him and leave.

When she doesn't move an inch, he takes a few steps away. And when she doesn't react to even more distance between them, he figures the decision has been made. 

Twenty minutes later, he has his bag packed and his leather jacket over his shoulders, shucking the collar up as he marches from his room and out towards the front lobby of the facility. Heads turn, just as quickly as they had when he had first walked inside. This time, he’s far more resolute to ignore them and stay on track.

He doesn’t need this, hasn’t for years, and so there’s no reason to be fussed up about learning to move on. And that’s what he had never done in those years living a civilian life.

Once outside, cold, bitter rain drops down heavily, and he turns up his collar even higher to avoid the wetness leaking down his neck. He keeps walking with purpose to the at the far end of the dock, all the while ignoring yet recognizing the way other troops stop to watch him.

His boots pound heavy on the ground and rain slips down his hair, over his face, and into his ears. It splatters on cement and echoes all around him, but he still hears the faint shouts coming after him.

"Captain! Captain Ackles!"

Jensen wars with himself, his feet wanting to stop, while his brain shouts _run run run_.

"Captain!" is called again. Still, he won't stop. Not until he hears the frustration bleeding through the next order: "Goddammit, Jensen, will you stop?!"

He finally does, feet stalling in place, boots snapping together with military precision. Jensen closes his eyes against the continuing rain and hears wet footsteps hurrying to catch up, even when he refuses to move an inch. 

"So, you're running again, huh?" Jared asks, frustration far too obvious. Nothing like the _Commander_ of the last twenty four hours. More like the man he loved drifting with.

"It's not running when you're not wanted," he replies. He stares out into the dark water and can only see thick ropes of rain dropping from far above. It reminds him of long nights before even longer days of jumping into the cockpit of Chevy Violet with Jared alongside him. "I shouldn't've come in the first place. I know you didn't want me to."

Jared stands just behind him; Jensen can feel the warmth, hear the way the rain breaks around those broad shoulders. "Did I ever say that?"

Jensen rolls his eyes, then continues to watch the heavy rain break through the ocean's surface. He refuses to face Jared just yet. "You haven't said otherwise. In fact, you haven’t said a whole heck of a lot."

"What am I supposed to say? That I'm happy you're back?"

"Would it hurt that much?"

"After you ditched me?"

Now Jensen closes his eyes and feels rain slide down his eyelids, roll over his cheeks like tears. He wonders just what Jared looks like at this moment. What kind of mess his hair is, or what kind of distress wrecks his beautiful face, feeling as torn up as Jensen is with that very question.

Jensen always said he ran from a fight that was impossible to win. But he always ignored the fact that he ran from a love worth having.

He has no words to reply. All conscious thought escapes him and is instead replaced by a steady flow of memories—good and bad—of their days spent together on this very ship. 

Maybe it was all too much to handle at once, or maybe not enough. Jensen has never been sure. 

He'd loved Jared with every ounce of flesh he had in his body, but fear drove him far away. 

_Better to have never watched him die_ , he’d figured. It never really was about Jensen, after all. 

It was always about Jared.

Jensen thinks about telling him that, but his lips won't move. His feet do finally allow him to about face and he wants to cry at the pathetic sight of Jared as a drowned rat who's angry beyond belief. 

That anger reminds Jensen of just how unwelcome he's been since re-enlisting, and he clenches his fists at his sides to match the ire flashing in Jared's eyes. 

"You didn't want me here anyway!" Jensen points out. "What does it matter if I walk out now?"

"For one, there's no way a chopper's flying out in this so that means you'll be walking right off the dock into rough waters.” Jared shrugs stiffly in his soaked, heavy uniform jacket. "But do whatever you want. You always did."

"What I want?" Jensen huffs and shuffles a few feet closer. "For the last few years we were together, it was what you wanted. You wanted to stay here, you wanted to keep fighting no matter what the ramifications, you didn't want to face a world outside of the walls of a jaeger."

"Yeah?” Jared harshly laughs. “And what did you want that was so much better?"

"To live!" he exclaims. "To be with you, out there where the sun meant another day of sunshine, not another day to face those monsters. But you never wanted that. So we stayed here."

Jared is shocked still, and Jensen thinks rightfully so. His mouth opens and closes, and while rain drips inside, no words come out. 

" _I_ stayed here, with you, instead,” Jensen points out. “I did what _you_ wanted.”

"Such a hardship."

Jensen wants to argue about the torment he felt every time they stepped into their jaeger. Always wondering if they would return after a fight, or to what degree they'd really count themselves lucky ... How _that_ was the real hardship.

He's saved from sharing any of that when Cortese jogs towards them, with a couple of soldiers trailing behind her. They're all saved from the downpour by the extravagantly wide umbrellas that dwarf each of them. 

Still, Cortese is loud, just like in the training room just half an hour ago, when she yells for Jared. "Commander! You should be inside! There's a Category IV storm on the horizon."

Jared glances over his shoulder, only sparing her a moment of his attention before he faces Jensen and sighs. "Are we done here?"

Jensen stirs at the annoyance and frustration evident in Jared's stare. His nerves light up, and he widens his feet and crosses his shoulders, pretending he isn't already soaked to the bone or that the leather of his jacket squeaks as the sleeves rub together. "I don't know. Are we?"

"Commander!" Cortese yells, then ushers soldiers up to protect Jared from the rains.

The young ensign is fresh faced yet determined when he approaches Jared, lifting the umbrella high enough to cover them both. "Sir, you'll catch a cold out here."

Jensen laughs, shakes his head, and half turns away. "Yes, please, _Commander_. Beware of a cold with the end of the world on our doorstep."

Jared remains focused on Jensen as he takes the umbrella from the ensign. He steps forward with heavy footfalls and brings the cover to Jensen, much to Jensen's relief, though he won't say it aloud. "Are you coming back inside?"

He tips his head up to Jared and imagines how easy it could be to brush some of the errant rain off his cheek, tuck the mess of his grown-out bangs—once youthful and free—back behind his ears. In that moment, he knows that he hadn't ever really left this place. And couldn't imagine doing it again. Because for all that they've changed, some things remain the same. 

"Yes, sir," he replies quietly. "Whatever you want."

The corner of Jared's mouth tips up, just a fraction, but it's enough for Jensen to have recognized it.

Going inside is more than just stepping foot back inside the complex. It means following Jared to his barracks and being awed by the impressive spread of space and furniture in the place. A wide oak desk off to the left, a handful of chairs circling the outside of it, a back-panel cabinet with liquor bottles and glasses. Jensen only barely notices Jared going there first; he's still amazed by the amount of room Jared has when they'd spent a decade sharing a barrack not even half as big.

Monitors fill the right wall like a bustling sports bar way back when, any number of sights in and around the base, along with a number of sonar screens circling with two-second updates. Aside from the technology, there appears to be a real living space, couch and arm chairs joined by side tables and a coffee table. As if this serves as Jared's nightly entertainment, a marked improvement to when they used to struggle to see through the static of old sports replays.

Jared clears his throat from just beside Jensen and offers a glass of amber in one hand and an exceptionally fluffy towel in the other. 

Jensen thanks him for the glass and immediately drinks from it while watching the sonar cycle and update, soft _beep, beep, beep_ bringing him back to immediacy of their mission. 

"Have they heard anything yet?" Jensen asks, motioning his glass towards the screens.

"Not yet, but ... you know how it goes."

"Them assholes come out of nowhere."

"Yeah, exactly." Jared makes an odd noise, drawing Jensen's attention to the towel still in his hand. "Here, you probably ..."

"Oh, right," Jensen chuckles awkwardly. He fights to get the damp jacket off, fussing with where to put it. "I'm probably dripping all over your fancy digs. Can't flood the Commander's home, now can we?"

"Don't say it like that."

He looks to Jared, who remains standing next to him, spine straight as a board. "Don't say what like that?"

"Commander." Jared glides over to his desk, removing his own jacket, using a second towel to dry off. Maybe even distract himself from actually dealing with Jensen. 

"How do I say it?" He continues to dab the towel across his arms, soaked shirt and pants, and again up through his hair. All while waiting for Jared to reply. 

"Like it's a joke." Jared meets Jensen's eyes with a seriousness that punches Jensen in the gut. "Like I didn't earn my bars."

Jensen fumbles with the right words, so he goes for the cheap joke with a crooked smile. "Well, I mean, who would've thought Elba would ever get a promotion?"

"Or me?"

"No, of course not..." Jensen huffs, still struggling to speak his real thoughts. "I mean, I didn't ... " He tosses his jacket and towel over the back of the couch, tired of feeling so out of place when facing Jared, someone he's spent half his life with. With a quick tip of his hand, he finishes off the rest of the bourbon in his glass, though he doesn't think Jared was very generous with his pour anyway. 

"Alright," Jensen says with a brief laugh, "what I mean is, you being in charge, yeah, it's all kinds of weird, but I'll deal with it, whatever you want."

Jared rolls his eyes then leans back on his desk. Jensen does his best to not admire the length of Jared's legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle. "I don't want you to _deal with it_. I want you to accept and respect it."

"Yes, of course, sir," he tacks on, then gulps. Maybe it's the liquor, or maybe it's finally thawing out after the harsh rain, but Jensen's stomach warms and turns just enough to put him off center. "I will work on that. The accepting. And respecting."

"Appreciated," Jared says lightly, as if testing out the idea himself. "And you have to lose the attitude."

Jensen makes a face and Jared immediately points at him. 

"That right there... you think this is some game where the old champ returns, and that isn't how it's going to be."

Deflating a bit, Jensen leans back on the edge of the couch. "Alright," he concedes.

"And I don't care how many guys you beat into the mat, you're getting a new partner."

"What's wrong with my old one?" Seconds after he's let the joke out, he realizes he actually means it. 

"He's a little busy running the entire operation."

Jensen smiles when Jared lets a tiny one sneak past his impressively tight defenses. "That's a shame. He was one hell of a ranger." Jared's head tips down and Jensen adds, "Good personality, too." Now Jared stares at him, appearing to be amused yet fighting it. "Great ass, while I'm making a list."

Jared shakes his head and stands up. "You done?"

"I could go on ... how much time you got?" Jensen holds his empty glass out between them, daring Jared to extend this moment, maybe even breach the tension that could melt away into one hell of a reunion.

"The question is how much patience do I have for you." Jensen doesn't budge until Jared goes around the desk for the decanter. "If I pour you one, will you take it with you?"

Jensen steps up to the other side of the desk and figures he's been lucky enough for the night, and so he nods with a soft smile. His eyes drift down Jared's arm to where his long fingers are clutching the top of the decanter, then he lets them rise back to Jared's gaze as he takes a quick sip. 

Jared clears his throat. “I’m serious, though. About the partner thing.”

“What’re my options?” Jensen teases. 

“You go back to … whatever hole you were barely living in.”

He’s silenced by that: the words, the thought, the reality of it all. 

In Jensen’s continued quiet, Jared lifts an eyebrow, amused. “Is that better than answering to me?” 

“I suppose not,” he admits. 

Behind Jensen, a loud beep sounds out, higher than the sonar, a few seconds longer, too. They both shift to look at the screen and Cortese's face appears. "Commander, the Canadian Prime Minister is holding for you."

"Oh, the major Major," Jensen smarts. When Cortese narrows her eyes, he lifts his glass in salute and smiles. "She can't see us, right?"

She scowls now, brow tightening with tiny creases. 

"Absolutely," Jared says, smile and mischief more than apparent in his voice. 

Jensen looks over his shoulder to smile at Jared, feeling a brief return to their days of pranks and laughter.

Then Jared clears his throat and commands the room with his booming, authoritative voice. "We're done here, Captain. I hope we don't have another encounter like this. Cortese, I'm ready for the Prime Minister."

It's as sharp a cutoff as Jensen could imagine, especially after the brief moments of lowered guards. Still, he salvages his bravado and backs out of the room, eyes on Jared the whole time. He tips his glass in thanks and leaves with a smile on his face, because this is movement.

 

 

Jensen sleeps hard and dreams light. For ages, he’s relived his years in the service via rough fights at sea, both real and imagined. This time, it’s about Jared and _them_. 

He’s happy and sated when he opens his eyes. Hopes that whatever did—or didn’t—happen between them last night has greased the wheels towards returning to _them_.

With purpose, he heads to the Mess, only to be thrown back into his reality. He’s the delinquent step-child who’s done everyone wrong. If heads don’t turn to stare, they don’t turn at all, which Jensen wagers could be just as bad.

He bypasses a tray and the hot food line, and settles on fruit. An apple and banana fill his hands, and he’s chomping into red skin before he leaves the dining hall. Straight to the training room, briefly waylaid by Brianna and Kim. Both are full of smiles and glad-handing him for his efforts from the day before. They fake punches and kicks as they recount all that he did, but he just nods in thanks and returns to the place where it all went down.

The apple gets stuck in his mouth, teeth pressed in tight, when he’s left staring at a near-empty room. It feels a lot like the previous morning with Jared and Major Cortese the only attendees. Yet, everything looks different.

For one, Cortese is downright pissed and unhappy to see him, rather than just annoyed. Jared, on the other hand, has a playful smirk in place as he watches Jensen stumble to catch up to whatever these proceedings are.

“I know I’m early, but…” Jensen says with a wave of the apple now in his hand. 

“Your auditions,” Jared offers, “your schedule. You ready?”

He glances around and is dumbstruck by the empty room. “Always ready,” he says from memory, the Corps own propaganda and mottos. Then shakes his head. “Ready for what?”

“Your new partner.”

Jensen laughs, takes a quick bite of his apple, and chews as he closes the space between himself and Jared. “Are you coming back? I mean, I had this dream, but figured it was gonna stay in my head.”

Cortese rolls her eyes at that. For Jared, however, a pleased albeit small smile warms his face. 

“Not quite,” Jared replies tightly. 

“Then where’s everyone at?”

“I thought you might like some privacy for this.”

Jensen flits his eyebrows suggestively. “Oh, really?”

“To avoid the criticism from the crowd.”

He laughs, bites again, and shakes his head, utterly skeptical of anything Jared could throw at him. At the age of 21, he’d battled Jared, who was just starting the ultimate bulk-up and has always carried a few extra inches on Jensen. It’d been far too close to call after a handful of long bouts, and when they still jumped up full of manic energy and joyful competition, Elba had called it a tie. And a partnership that carried them for years. 

Jensen figures if he could outlast Jared back then, he can handle anything now. So when Jared summons someone with a quick hand wave, Jensen casually takes another bite of his apple with half the fruit now gone. 

Entering the room is a rack of broad shoulders and a sculpted chest that stretches the _PPDC_ training shirt impossibly tight. Later, Jensen will realize he has two extra inches from head to toe, but he already knows that he seriously lacks in the muscle department compared to this guy. 

Those muscles are defined and impressive and intimidating, for sure. More solid than anyone Jensen battled yesterday, and far more bravado in the slicked back dark hair and childish smirk. 

When they stand toe to toe, the guy smiles and puts his hand out to shake. “How ya doing? I’m Chris.”

Before Jensen realizes it, the apple has fallen out of his hand and _splats_ on the mat. “Hi,” he says plainly then quickly turns to Jared. “Uh, seriously?”

Jared shrugs, stiff blue jacket rising awkwardly yet settling perfectly at Jared’s shoulders. “I don’t see any problem. You’re missing a partner. And so is Chris.”

Jensen crosses his arms and awkwardly laughs. “I mean, I’m not about to fight him. Not after yesterday.” He turns to Chris and stage whispers, “Nearly ripped a guy’s arm off.”

“I heard,” Chris acknowledges with a quick nod and smile. “Pretty impressive.” He flexes his biceps as he crosses his arms to mimic Jensen. “I’d be happy to see what you can do today.”

He gulps, then chuckles to cover up the noise. Those _muscles_ scare Jensen a bit. Then he turns to Jared again and mouths _seriously?_

Jared stares at him, head tipped in a challenge. “One-way ticket to Alaska?” 

There’s not much to do but sigh and pathetically nod in agreement. He turns to Chris, who’s already hunched down in a ready position for them to grapple.

“On three and go,” Jared says before counting down. 

_one_

“Alright, well, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Jensen chuckles.

_two_

He tosses the banana far behind him and turns to face the competition.

_three_

And is swiftly knocked down with that thick shoulder smashing his rib cage. 

The wind’s knocked out of him and he’s dizzy with his head bouncing on the mat. Chris maneuvers to the side so his forearm jams into Jensen’s neck and he smiles. “Go.”

“Yeah,” Jensen barely breathes out, “to the medic.”

 

 

He learns that Chris has a last name (Evans), a brother and sister (both younger), and a history not unlike most who signed onto the program. 

His partner died in a mission just off the coast of Northeast Russia. The jaeger had been torn to pieces and Sebastian’s life slipped through Chris’s hands. Literally so, when sweaty palms ruined the grip Chris had on his partner. 

It’s obvious that the memory—of that day, and his partner—hangs heavy, but it also drives him. So he’s fairly open talking about it, unlike Jensen.

Who closes up the second Chris offers him a beer from the small fridge in the corner of his barracks and asks what happened to Jensen’s partner.

Jensen’s frozen in place, unsure of how to really explain that nightmare, especially when he’s not sure if it’s slowly working its way into a pleasant dream. Jared had seemed entirely too amused by the dozen times Chris knocked him to the mat, and then impressed with Jensen’s mat skills when he’d pinned Chris nearly every time. 

Still, Jared left the room with the same air of authority as he did the day before, bathing them in awkward silence when he nodded and _hmphed_ on his way out the door. 

“The eye?” Chris asks then tosses a bag of frozen peas at Jensen’s chest.

He lets out a surprised grunt when the icy bag hits his chest. It’s a bit shameful to accept a cold pack from the guy who gave you the black eye, but Chris is just so fucking _likeable_ that Jensen has a hard time being mad about how insistent and hot the throbbing across his cheeks still is. 

Busying himself with the pack over his eye, he lets Chris’s initial question hang around in the air. He distracts himself by assessing the room, with New England sports represented in posters and hats, and a sprinkling of framed family portraits on the tiny desk in the corner. “How long have you been stationed here?” 

“Five years.”

Jensen makes a face, but hides it by comparing Chris’ face and those of his siblings’. According to Chris’ timeline, they’d come up through the Marines then called this place home. Until Chris and his partner took on an assignment that erased a life, one that seemed to be pretty stellar, for all that Chris has to brag about. 

Just as Jensen had always feared for him and Jared.

“How about you?” Chris asks with an easy smile.

He’s slow to face Chris again, watches carefully for any break in the question. As if it’s just a test. Or a joke. 

“What? Is there something on my face?” Chris quickly swipes at his mouth then sticks a finger inside, mumbling as he asks, “Or in my teeth?”

“Are you serious?”

“About my teeth?”

“About the question… about me?”

“Hell yeah. If we’re gonna be drifting, we might as well get to know one another. Right?”

Slowly, very, very slowly, Jensen begins to smile. This may be that second chance he’s always wanted. Just… in an unexpected package.

 

 

For their first test run, Chevy Violet is ready for them. Jensen admires the sleek metal angles and the bright bands of black, silver, and purple expertly patched together in her rehabilitation. He thinks it's like seeing God, when he rises in the lift and relives their history together. And Chris must see it on his face.

"You know... you can love your jaeger," Chris says with a sideways glance, "But you can't _love_ your jaeger."

"It's far past love," Jensen murmurs, ignoring anything else once they're level with the cockpit. 

They march down the catwalk and Jensen is moving on autopilot. Long-ago years spent here replay in muscle memory so he doesn't hesitate a single step as he enters Chevy Violet and settles into place in the cockpit. He remains confidently still as maintenance folks get everything into place, all while Chris prattles on.

"Looks like they haven't upgraded the screen assembly yet. In Captain America, there's 3D and periphery vision and radar all in the facial set."

Jensen snorts, keeps any other thoughts to himself like _just a young ‘un_ or _kid doesn't know what a real, hard-working machine looks like_ or any number of other smooth comebacks.

"What about sonar? You got anything for below depth?"

Now, Jensen smirks and tugs his helmet into place. "Yeah, it's called intuition and trusting your Operations Crew."

"If you say so."

And Jensen does, because once Rob and Rich begin speaking in their ears, a mess of codes and instructions, Jensen feels his heartbeat even out comfortably. He's done this before dozens of times, and new partner or not, he's ready to give it another go.

Once the machine whirs and shudders to life, Jensen closes his eyes with the quick buzz of Chris' mind syncing with his. A hundred snapshots run right by him of Chris and Sebastian. The mischievous smile of the lost partner. The sharp bravado and dare in his eyes. The quick charge of leadership that Chris' practicality evened out.

Then it's Jensen's brain putting on a show with Jared's wide, excitable grin and loud cheers as Chevy Violet took its first dive into the Pacific. That playful insistence that slowly ebbed into confidence. And the surprising cool that always kept them moving forward. Jensen could always be a bit pessimistic in their chances, begging them to rethink strategy. But nine times out of ten, Jared convinced him to stick to the plan, to see through to the planned success, and the bastard was never wrong.

"You ready for one?" Jensen calls out when he can feel the drift warming up to them, settling steady with a strange connection of both being pragmatists. 

"Is that all you got?" Chris asks. His cockiness rattles Jensen's skull just a bit, but they're both lining up to move seconds later.

One solid step down the maintenance bay. And then another. Arms lift up with slow yet smooth swings as Chevy Violet carries herself with one capable shift after another until she reaches the end of the bay. 

"Swing right!" Jensen calls out.

"Swinging right."

Hinges cry out with rust and bangs, but she turns as they steer. Without much prompting, Chris follows as Jensen picks up a quicker pace, strolling through the bay and testing out Chevy Violet's wingspan. Her fingertips grate against the inside walls and sparks fly behind her. 

Chris curses and brings the left arm in, yet Jensen gets bolder. He knows what his baby can do, so he reaches up high and taps a series of thick, corded wires leading to the overhead spotlights. The ropes and lights sway hard enough to warrant them a warning from Rob’s ever-worried voice, and Jensen laughs with delight for getting his girl moving. He's not about to slow down now that her gears are running, no matter how painful the hinges still sound.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs, "Daddy's home."

"You've gotta rethink this relationship, Ackles. And your speed, we're going in a ‘lil hot."

Jensen ignores the worry and instructs them to spin her back around just before hitting the far end of the bay. Her shoulders swipe the back wall and her fingers scrape against the side, but Jensen keeps her moving all the same. He eggs on her left side to jog, even as the right still drags a second too late. 

"Gotta keep up, kid," he teases Chris. 

"I'd worry more about how your girl is keeping up."

Excitement hums through his veins and practicality is edged out by performance. And his love for Chevy Violet, so he takes her on another quick spin to the right. Chris, however, falters. His brain, too, because now Jensen's mind is full of stark images, backdropped by an inky black sky. 

Thick scaly fingers grab at the head of the jaeger ... not Chevy Violet, but a bright red, white, and blue beast of thick metal bolts and ties. The face is ripped off and Jensen swears he can feel the wind whipping at his face and burning his skin. Then he sees Chris in shotgun, Sebastian next to him, and those blue scaly digits swipe at them again. This time, they’re rewarded with Sebastian in hand. Somehow, Sebastian manages to grab at the edge of torn metal, somewhere around the hinge of the jaeger’s jaw. 

Chris' blood runs icy hot as he unhooks all connections and runs forward to snatch Sebastian back. The Kaiju is too quick and strong, and yanks at the jaeger's opening to tip over the whole machine. Chris steadies himself inside the cockpit while he watches Sebastian free fall to a mess of rocky shores. 

It's all over in seconds, and as shocking as it is to live, Jensen's still shouting at Chris to recover, to move on, to shift into some other vision.

He thinks it's fruitless as the sound of the jaeger plunging into the ocean drowns out any other noises. That is until there's the harsh scream of Chevy Violet's gears halting in place. They reconnect quick enough to get her hands up to soften the impact with the unforgiving wall. It would’ve been much worse at full speed. 

Jensen snatches his helmet off, ready to scream at Chris, yet is quieted by the blabbering going on inside his ear with Rob and Rich freaking out enough for all three of them. 

Slowly, Chris tugs his helmet off and sighs, staring straight ahead at the wall just inches from the Chevy Violet's nose. "Well, fuck me."

"You almost fucked us both," Jensen complains. 

"Almost beats out absolutes." He chuckles a little, tampering down any cockiness with a quick look across the way.

"You sure you're good to drift?" 

It's a question for the both of them ... Jensen's not sure if he's prepared to try this with someone he can't read. Chris has presented nothing but the nice, playful buddy. So assured that Jensen had predicted something a lot smoother happening on their first drift.

"I'm good. Just ... first run jitters. You know."

Jensen remembers being terrified to drift with Jared on their first run, something a lot like this one. Mostly because there was nothing more horrifying than to consider what would be seen inside by a guy he'd instantly clicked with, in a multitude of ways. 

Jitters and sexual tension, surely. Not outright misery.

"Go again?" Chris offers, a sure smile working its way high on his face. 

Jensen plays with his helmet, considers putting it back, then side eyes Chris. "Can I trust you not to smash my baby into a wall?"

"Hey, you're the one taking her on a fifty-yard dash."

He takes a deep breath and weighs his options. They don't have much time to practice, with Day's constantly updated predictions of an attack on the weekend's horizon. "You sure you're ready?"

"My recovery time is impeccable." Chris winks then shoves his helmet back on with a hard slap at the side. "Let's see what you got old man."

"This old man is gonna kick your ass," Jensen promises before snapping his helmet into place.

 

 

 

"Cortese!" Jensen calls as he jogs after the tiny brunette. 

She doesn't slow down and he hurries around a corner, snagging her elbow back. With a rough jerk, she spins away and sets her jaw. "Excuse me?"

"Sorry," he offers with his hand up in peace. 

"Yes, sorry is right. And it's _Major_ Cortese."

"So you did hear me?" He lifts an eyebrow. "And you're still pissed at me, I see."

"So you're not as stupid as you look?" 

"Hey, wai-"

Cortese stands at attention, shoulders and limbs perfectly perpendicular. "No, you wait. I have been helping you at the request—"

"Wouldn't really call it helping," Jensen insists. 

"Of the Commander, and up until you decided to disrespect the process, I was happy to help you."

He scowls at her as her attitude continues to rise. "Wouldn't call it happy either."

She sucks in a quick breath. "So now that you've got yourself a partner and a real mission, perhaps you can take care of your own self and let the rest of us get back to our real jobs."

Jensen leans back is if physically hit by her anger. Sure, they’ve traded some tense words after he almost crushed Amell's shoulder. And certainly, his walking out on her wasn't the most pleasant. Still, he remains confused about the abrupt addition of a chip on her shoulder.

“Where’s _this_ coming from?” he asks, waving his hand in front of her. “‘Cause, I get that I pissed you off the other day, bu—”

“It’s not just the other day,” she insists. Her eyes narrow threateningly, and Jensen is left to wonder what that means when she quickly turns on her heel and marches off.

Jensen watches her go, distracted by the parties walking all around him, groups parting around him then glancing back in annoyance that he’s refused to move. 

“She’s pretty hot, huh?”

He blinks at the distraction and finds Chris at his side, fondly watching where Cortese has disappeared. 

“And such a stinkin’ spitfire, ya know?” Chris grins cheekily and elbows Jensen. “You like a challenge?”

“Not quite,” he answers slowly. Because he surely does… as far as Jared is concerned. “Besides, I think I’m too far on her bad side.”

“She’s just real protective of the Commander.” Chris motions forward, taking a few steps, and asking Jensen to grab a coffee. 

They’ve gotten along just fine thus far, the affable friendship reinforced by their time test driving the day before, so it’s not too bad an idea. Plus, Jensen will never turn down coffee. Or a chance to hear more about Jared.

Once they’re settled at a table far in the corner of the Mess, Jensen fiddles with the lid on his coffee and paces himself with his exploration. “So I take it the Major’s attitude is pretty well known around here?”

Chris immediately nods. “Definitely. Especially after their crash.” He suddenly laughs, takes a healthy sip, and leans forward on the table. “Right, of course you don’t know, going MIA and all.”

Jensen eyes him. “I thought you didn’t know...”

“You think anyone can spend a night here and _not_ know? Come on.”

“Fair enough,” he waves on. 

“They drifted together for a while, not too long after you jumped ship.”

It’s said casually—maybe too casually for Jensen’s comfort. Still, he tempers down his flinch and instead focuses on a lot of quick, short sips to distract himself from staring, enthralled, throughout the story.

“And he seemed really comfortable with her, and she with him. But kind of unbalanced, like she was there to prop him up and he was just happy to be standing again, ya know?”

“Cortese and Jared?” Jensen attempts to make it more about seeking confirmation than disbelief, shock, or even pain. That Jared could drift with someone else … be that compatible to make it work more than just once or twice … all of Jensen’s memories of them immediately cheapened in his mind. 

Or maybe quite the reverse, as he instantly weighs each moment in hindsight, flips it over and inspects every single edge. 

Jensen doesn’t realize he’s been staring across the room for so long until Chris taps his hand for attention. “You okay there?”

“Yeah, I, uh,” he says quickly but then stumbles to get anything else meaningful out. “I mean, I’m sure you know, about Jared—the Commander—and me. That we drifted together before. That we were, you know, like, whatever.”

Chris smirks and shakes his head. “Yeah, you were something. Everyone knows that. Probably why they’re all stuck on watching you walk around this place. Sleeping with your partner’s one thing. With the Commander? Not really acceptable now, you know?”

“That’s not … I’m not.” Jensen stops short and rearranges his thoughts. It doesn’t do him any good, though, and he’s struggling to keep his hands from shaking and his knees from bouncing and his head from swiveling right off his head with anger, bitterness, disbelief … 

But then paranoia creeps in and it all makes sense. Cortese drifted with Jared, saw inside, felt and coalesced with his emotions and memories. She knows even better than Jensen, has witnessed just what his leaving did to Jared. And he’s struck with guilt all over again. 

Any true reflection is cut short when an alarm rings through the complex, and Jensen and Chris take off at full speed to the Operations hull.

 

 

“ _ **No!**_ ” Jensen yells as soon as he’s in the bay area and watching flames lick up the sides of Chevy Violet. 

He rushes forward as if he can jump right through the glass and into the maintenance bay, or even run the controls himself to put it out. Chris and Katie, who rush in just behind them, hold him back and after a second, Jensen’s fighting against them on principle. Because he has no power to do anything else at this moment.

“What’s going on?” Jared barks upon entering, then stops short at the scene beyond the glass.

Maintenance crews race around to reach fire hoses and wash Chevy Violet down, but her insides spark and flare as new areas begin to burn. 

Jensen stares at Jared, and shares the same broken look on his face, even as Jensen’s insides warm with something more honest and caring. Even as Jared steps closer to the controls and listens to Speight go on and on and _on_ about what’s happening, it doesn’t appear Jared has an ounce of attention on the story. And even as he remains solidly unemotional, the color drains from his face. 

“What happened?” Jensen demands. 

Rich slowly turns in place and aims a sharp look at him. “Well, as I was trying to say to the Commander--”

“No, not what’s happening now, but _how_. You let her light up in flames and you’re gonna answer for it.”

“Hey, c’mon now,” Katie soothes with a hand on his back, though he shakes her away.

Aldis gets in there, too, and manages to bring Jensen a few feet back with little effort. Still, Jensen glares at him before turning back to Rich.

“I’m no psychic,” Rich snarks, “But I’d say it’s something to do with age.”

Jensen surges forward, pulled back again by Aldis. “You watch your mouth.”

“She’s no spring chicken, and the wiring is decades old.” Rich shrugs, though still appears tense with the scene as the fire is slowly dying out. “They were up there soldering and putting new plates on after the test runs. We’ll know more later.”

His anger won’t settle, no matter what is said. Chevy Violet was his baby, his first and only ride in this whole mess of war. She stands tall today as a reminder of what he’s seen, lived through, and had with Jared standing beside him in that cockpit. “What kind of shit show are you running that routine maintenance burns down a jaeger?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me!”

“It’ll be alright,” Chris attempts, “we can take the Cap for a spin and see how he’s faring these days.”

Sure, another jaeger that’s required a face-lift since the last battle left Chris running solo. That really grants Jensen the confidence he needs, proven by the immediate eye roll and continued outburst. “Jesus Christ, what a fucking nightmare of an outfit! Abandoned pilots, sloppy training, and now this!”

“Jensen!” Jared shouts to break him. He stares right at Jensen and there’s something soft and wounded in his eyes, like he _gets it_ and feels the loss just as heavily. 

It brings tears to Jensen’s eyes even as he maintains Jared’s gaze, refusing to shift from this moment. One where it’s not Commander versus Captain, but _Jared and Jensen_. Two partners who spent half a lifetime in that machine. Both had watched it resurrected just a week ago, and now they’re witnessing its downfall. 

The whole room has fallen quiet with only the sharp stuttering of the industrial fire hoses and mammoth overhead sprinklers doing their job to put out the flames. Everyone within these four silent walls are also watching Jared and Jensen’s staring match, and soon enough, the tension is overwhelming and Jensen has to escape.

He bursts through the swinging doors and jogs down the hallway. His heart races and legs shuffle quickly, the will to run losing to the crowds in the central network. Jensen turns down the narrowest of hallways, where hardly a soldier bothers to travel when there are plenty of other routes through the barracks. It’s the long way back to his room, for sure, and thoughts about packing up overwhelm him once again.

Inside his room, he tosses a smattering of his belongings to the bed. Items he doesn’t care much for anymore— _Defense_ training gear, flight suit, helmet—all get pitched across the room. The helmet skids on the floor before coming to a sudden stop that alerts Jensen. 

He turns around to face Jared … and not just the suited Commander Jensen has dreadfully faced of late, but the man he knew and loved all those moons ago with sweat beading at Jared’s temples, making his hair matted and wavy at his temples. Maybe it's from the torment of what they'd just witnessed. Or maybe he ran, determined to catch up to Jensen. He’s also insistent with a tight grip at Jensen’s upper arms to ground him in place. 

“Don’t you walk away again,” Jared says between gritted teeth. He sounds angry and worried, and even a little bit desperate. 

Jensen stands tall, shoulders up and firm, and knees locked in place to push back. “You’re doing one hell of a job daring me to.”

Jared shifts back, face pinched in like he's been smacked. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah, really," Jensen bitches back. He shoves Jared away and marches forward, backs Jared across the tiny space. "Giving me the silent treatment, turning half this place against me, giving me a half-baked partner, then letting my jaeger go up in smoke."

With an angry laugh and swift push, Jared forces Jensen to stumble a few steps. "It's never your fault, is it? Always have to shove it onto someone else when you can't own up to your own mistakes and failures."

"Seems like my only mistake was ever trusting you."

Now Jared's well and visibly shaken, the burn landing sharply enough to disrupt his commanding stature. Woodenly, he says, "Seems like we have something in common then."

Jensen takes his turn to laugh bitterly. "Right, like you ever trusted me for anything. And you certainly didn't wait long to move on to the Major."

"I didn't—" Jared abruptly stops and runs a rough hand through his hair. He turns in place to look anywhere but Jensen then grunts. "First off, I never turned anyone against you. Least of all Genevieve. She saw enough in the drift to make up her own damned mind."

Jensen flinches at the images of what could've pissed her off this successfully. Likely anything Jared'd been hurt by when Jensen left.

“And nothing happened between us. We were compatible enough, but then the crash. She wasn’t fit anymore. Second, having to find you a partner wasn't the easiest thing for me either. Like I wanted to imagine you drifting and sharing Chevy Violet with someone else?"

His mouth tips open with shock while his knees shake, overwhelmed by emotion. Especially from Jared. Like this. 

Since Jensen returned, Jared has been stoic and closed off. Jensen had imagined it was because Jared hated him, had moved on, didn’t care about their drifts. The strength in Jared’s words say otherwise. And Jensen feels like a world-class asshole for not considering Jared’s own thoughts here. Of what he saw when Jensen walked back inside these walls.

Suddenly, Jared's voice turns icy, his look, too. "And she's not your goddam jaeger, Jensen. She was _ours_."

 _Ours_.

Jensen repeats the word over and over, hearing the insistence in Jared’s tone and witnessing the pure insult spreading across his face. Chevy Violet really was _theirs_ , as are all of Jensen’s memories, now reinforced by Jared’s simple statement.

_She was ours._

Theirs to have and to pilot and live in and honor for the rest of their lives. A simple joke from long ago about marrying Chevy Violet spills forth and tears build in Jensen’s eyes. For all that he misses from those days … and perhaps Jared, too.

He feels his muscles deflate along with any anger that's been brewing since the first time he recognized Jared giving him the cold shoulder. Hell, maybe he'd deserved it. More than before, he really wants to be inside Jared’s mind, to let Jared see inside his, too.

But he doesn’t really deserve that, right? He deserves Jared's harsh glare and quick exit. 

He figures he definitely deserves the hard knock of his head against the wall when he loses his balance and dizzily falls forward. He fully misjudges the space around him and finally lets himself slide down to the floor with a shoulder shoved against the cool brick wall. His vision swims and his mind spins in circles. The tears that never fall match the hollowness in his chest, and he welcomes the rush of pain over his skull and down his neck. It's a better alternative than utter heartbreak.

 

 

Not enough hours later, Jensen is shocked out of a rough sleep to the recognizable blare of battle alarms. Horns echo right outside his door, forcing him up and into his uniform as quickly as possible. 

He’s still tucking his shirt into his belt when he charges into the Ops room. A loud flurry of noise and rushing activity sparks both a welcome memory and a huge pit of worry in his stomach. Beyond the observation deck, rangers are rushing to their jaegars, maintenance crews are bringing the machines to life and helping pilots into their full gear.

Rob is calling out locations—just west of Portland, sweeping their way south towards California—and Charlie follows up with classifications of the beasts. 

“We have three rushing coastward, and fast,” Rich says without taking his eyes off the sonar. 

Jared steps into view from the far left, mostly suited up, but missing the intimidating presence of his jacket. He seems to have been as far behind the alert as Jensen, though he catches up with a quick play-by-play with Rob. 

Chris opens the side door and summons Jensen with a smile. “You ready, cowboy?”

There’s a bigger mess of action beyond Chris, where rangers are outfitted to drift then hurry off to their jaegars. 

Jensen pauses, then turns back to Jared. They share a look, and all Jensen can think is that he wishes it was Jared at the doorway. That he wasn’t walking into danger alone while Jared sat back and watched. 

Jared brings his head up high with tension straining his brow. He offers Jensen a small nod, and Jensen gives him one in return. 

It’s as close to peace and closure as Jensen can hope for at this moment. The last second he might ever see Jared.

In a flash, Jensen and Chris are solid in armor and in the cockpit of Chris’ jaeger. Helmets in place, they set a number of switches and systems before calling ready. The ceiling above comes to life, screeching its way open so aircraft can drop anchors that maintenance wrangles into place. Captain America is dragged up and out of the bay and soars over the Pacific until they zero in on a Class IV Kaiju marching towards the newly rehabilitated coastline, the sun peeking out from the horizon. 

Rising out of the water, the Kaiju’s chest is broad and tall. Its head is a mess of angles that could represent the worst serpent in all of history. More terrifying, though, are the dozen tentacles sweeping out from where arms should be, six on each side. The sight of the limbs flying through the air and water, creating mammoth waves across the ocean’s surface, makes Jensen’s own arms and legs tighten up in fear. 

Barely any words are needed, just the basics like _ready_ , and _systems go_ , and _sync_.

Then Chris murmurs, “God save you, you needle dick prick.”

Jensen laughs through the tension with adrenaline immediately spilling through his veins. A switch flips and Jensen also has Chris’s energy coursing through him, and he braces himself for the mechanical click of being released.

Captain America drops for stories upon stories until it splashes into the ocean with the kind of distraction they’d hoped for. The Kaiju has just about reached the shoreline with crowds of people fleeing eastward. It spins in place and its tentacles skim the water, forcing a whole new set of waves that makes the Captain rock on its feet. 

Together, Jensen and Chris steady the jaeger on the sandy floor, then everything aligns and they march their machine right up to the Kaiju without a second of fear.

Two tentacles smack the side of the jaeger, but they quickly swing an arm around to hit the beast right back. Captain’s internal systems hum and beep and shout updates to weapons and proximity of the Kaiju, and Jensen ignores every one of them when he senses Chris’ energy ramp. The drift rushes them forward to strike at the Kaiju and dodge its limbs whipping in all directions. Jensen can feel Chris’s memories float over him, successful ones with Sebastian, taking down three Class IIIs in one night. He builds upon that and relives some of his finer moments with Jared, and they drift as one when Chris continues to surge with intensity and fight. 

The Kaiju strikes at them again and Chris snatches the tentacle in one hand as Jensen arms the left with a sharp disc that slides out of its palm. Red, white, and blue swirl around the weapon and Jensen smiles with the pride of defending their country just before swinging out to slice through the tentacle. 

Inhuman screams come from the monster as it stumbles back. Black gunk spills out of its severed arm, but the beast comes right at them. Unfazed, Jensen and Chris, one by one, quite literally disarm it. 

Chris screams in glory and pride with each fallen limb, and Jensen finds himself smiling like the old days. 

Without its tentacles, the monster is defenseless, so it’s no tough job to approach it. Chris clamps the Captain’s large fist around its neck and squeezes, dragging out staggering cries until it slows all movements and goes limp. Jensen puts an end to it by striking down through that hearty chest. It takes a handful of times to rip up and take away its life, but they’re both set to the task and get it done with an efficiency and accuracy Jensen remembers from his previous life. 

Over their headsets, they hear cries of victory and Chris is certainly ready to celebrate. 

“That’s three up and three down!” Rob crows. “Come on home, rangers. You’ve earned yourself a glass of the Commander’s best bourbon.”

“I’m holding you to that!” Chris laughs.

“Maybe even two, and you know—”

The receiver scratches on the other end before Jared’s serious tone comes through. “I haven’t promised anything. We’re sending transport out to retrieve your asses. Well done, gentlemen.”

Jensen sees otherwise when he glances further down the shoreline. A freshly killed Class III slips underwater just before a Class IV rises up to beat the shit out of Aldis and Katie’s Ruby Ray.

“Not so fast, Commander.” Jensen clears his throat, breaking up the moment. “There’s a fourth in our view.”

“What? Where?” Chris asks, as they both work to turn the jaegar around. It’s just in time to witness the Kaiju’s hammerfist smash the side of Ruby Ray’s head. “Oh, fuck, alright, we’re going.”

“Already gone,” Jensen says just before firing off a handful of rockets from the belly of Captain America. 

The rockets crash into the side of the beast and knock it over. It’s already sinking when Jensen and Chris run the Captain to the scene. It isn’t pretty, and Jensen curses at the few seconds he waited to say anything. The whole side of Ruby Ray’s face is split open and he can see Katie fighting to keep Aldis upright.

“Recovery now!” Jensen yells. “Ruby Ray’s hit. Repeat, Ruby Ray’s hit.”

Now, the drift falters as Chris assesses the scene. Sebastian’s fall replays in both their heads, and Jensen shouts at him to refocus, get back on track, forget the whole fucking thing. Anything to right his partner’s mind. 

With Jensen steady on controls for his side of the Captain, he reaches out with the right hand and sets the open palm to the hole. Katie drags Aldis to the edge and eventually tips him onto the Captain’s fingers before jumping into the hand and dragging her partner further into the palm. Jensen closes the hand to keep them safe and remains on alert for any new threats. 

He grits his teeth through the silence outside and ignores the rush of alarms and shouting going through his ears from back at the base. Tom and Mike’s jaegar has damage, and it sounds like it’s even worse than what Jensen is dealing with now.

Later, Jensen will recognize they were retrieved in record time, but it feels like a lifetime as he fears for Aldis’ life.

 

Promised or not, Jensen gets his bourbon. He lifts a cheap, off-brand bottle from the Mess Hall and heads out to the maintenance bay where Chevy Violet has been sent to the corner in favor of fixing Ruby Ray. His heart goes heavy at the sight of torn metal and split wires, as he imagines just how Katie and Aldis could have died with one wrong move. Just beside Ruby Ray is Blue Steel, Tom and Mike’s machine, with even more damage. They may not have been Jensen’s fans upon returning, but they’re still part of the team and Jensen’s shoulders are heavy with worry.

Aldis, thankfully, is in recovery with Katie at his side. His body’s a mess of wounds and bandages, and he’ll probably be heavily sedated for a long while, long enough to miss the next battle. Mike and Tom are much the same, but with worse injuries that will likely end their careers as rangers. Overall, Jensen’s grateful that all rangers are accounted for. 

Still, he’s shaky about what awaits them on the next run. Maybe it’s Jensen and Chris in the medical ward, and maybe Jensen will live out his greatest nightmare to witness more death.

His legs are tired and slow, but he climbs halfway up the scaffolding before he stops in place. He’d intended to reach the top and watch maintenance clean up Ruby Ray and Blue Steel, yet the appearance of Jared sitting at the edge of this platform with his head forward on a railing forces his stomach to drop. 

Jensen lowers himself beside Jared with a few inches between them. For his sanity, or maybe Jared’s, he’s not sure. He gets the bottle of liquor open and takes a healthy swig before offering it to Jared, who accepts it without a word and drinks. 

After a few rounds, Jared sits up, resting his arms on the railing and watching Ruby Ray’s crews soldering new red metal to old. “Where’d you get the bottle?” he asks with a ragged voice.

“In the Mess.” 

Jared snorts and vaguely smiles. “Could’ve at least gotten the good stuff.”

Jensen glances at him. “I heard that’s all locked up in the Commander’s barracks.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Along with everything else.”

Patient as ever, Jensen waits for Jared to explain that, but it never comes. And he’s unsure if he should ask. But Jensen figures he was never great at boundaries when it came to Jared. “What all else you got locked up?”

Jared slowly turns his head, eyes moving to take in all of Jensen’s face. “My ability to compartmentalize.” He looks at the jaegers undergoing restoration, and bites the corner of his mouth. “I sent good people into battle tonight and all I can think about is how everyone could’ve died.”

“But they didn’t,” Jensen insists softly. “We all came back in one piece.”

“Relatively,” he snorts. 

“But still. Aldis is going to recover in the next week or so, Mike and Tom are still breathing, and we killed four assholes out there. That’s a victory to me.”

“And what if it was you?” A second later, he looks at Jensen again. “What if you were the one being brought back to the base in a jaeger’s hand? Then what?”

Jensen gulps at the sentiment, at the emotion tearing at Jared’s words. “But it wasn’t.”

“But what if? How could I live with myself if I sent you out there, and you never returned?”

He can’t back away from the intensity of Jared’s gaze, or how his brow is furrowed tightly above wide, wet eyes. He can’t talk either, and just lets his mouth open a fraction as he considers how to handle the rush of sensations overtaking his body.

“You see now why I didn’t want you to come back? Because I didn’t want to watch you drift and die on a helpless mission.”

“Ironic,” Jensen says with a flit of his eyebrows. “Considering I came back to see you.”

With a terse smile, Jared shakes his head. “You shouldn’t have. I’m a mess of the man I used to be. Tried to cut myself off from everyone so I could lead, but just ended up falling right back into all the old memories.”

“Jared,” he murmurs, mentally saying _you’re being too hard on yourself_. He reaches out to touch Jared’s face, palm touching cheek for just a second before Jared flinches away.

“No, don’t.”

Then, Jared closes his eyes and tips his head back into Jensen’s hand. Jensen takes it for Jared’s need of comfort and reassurance, so he pulls Jared closer and tucks Jared’s head against his neck. He runs his hand around the back of Jared’s head to hold the other cheek and rests his mouth against Jared’s hair. 

Jensen remembers a mission early in their time together when Jared had first been truly shaken up by a Kaiju that just would not die. It rose from the water after repeated slices of Chevy Violet’s jagged wrist knife into its side, and later, Jared shared his fear of that becoming a fight neither of them would walk away from. Jensen had done much the same as he is now, holding Jared close for comfort and relief, and just like that evening, Jared shifts around the stare into Jensen’s eyes.

Back then, Jensen had dared to kiss Jared, slow and careful. This time, Jared rushes forward to capture Jensen’s mouth with a hand coming up to clutch at Jensen’s neck. 

They both breathe heavily, loudly, as their mouths remain locked tight until Jensen moves just an inch and Jared slinks his tongue inside. That recognizable taste of _Jared_ , with an undercurrent of the heady liquor, kicks off every nerve in Jensen’s body and he dives into the kiss. 

It lasts longer than it should, especially in the openness of the bay. Yet Jensen can’t stop reaching further into Jared’s mouth and fighting against his tongue. Sparks fly all around them as Ruby Ray and Blue Steel are put back together piece by piece, and Jensen swears the flares and pops are replicated through his body as he comes alive with want and satisfaction. 

A loud _boom_ of equipment startles them out of the kiss. They look over the railing then Jensen turns to Jared again. He smiles at the high blush on Jared’s cheeks and the bright rawness of Jared’s mouth. 

Jared continues to watch the work in front of them, blinking himself out of a daze. Jensen understands that, because he still feels like he’s soaring with Jared’s tongue alongside his. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Jared whispers, even when he doesn’t look at Jensen. 

Jensen holds his breath, praying they haven’t fallen out of this moment. “Where do you want to go?” 

“Your room,” he half says, half asks, still not turning away from the scene in front of them. 

With a smile, Jensen shakes his head. “Whatever you want.”

 

 

It goes by in a blur and Jensen only catches up when he’s on his sad sack of a bed with Jared hovering over him. Clothes litter the floor, kisses are bitten into skin, and Jared is a man on a mission when he drags his palms down the length of Jensen’s torso. His fingers splay out over Jensen’s hips with his thumbs digging into the slight curves that have never been anything but lean muscle. Then he leans down and sucks at the soft skin, forcing Jensen to moan and groan with his back lifting off the bed. 

Jared reaches up to palm Jensen’s chest, those long, thick fingers fondling Jensen’s nipples and Jensen wants to scream out of his skin. No matter how long it’s been since then, Jared still knows all of Jensen’s hot spots. 

Jensen combs through Jared’s hair as kisses trail even lower. His stomach flips when Jared grabs at his boxer briefs and tugs, quick and hard, so they’re stuck at his knees. Jensen tries to widen his legs and force them lower, but he doesn’t need to because Jared wedges his face down to lick and kiss all over Jensen’s upper thighs, between them, over his balls, and up the underside of his dick.

Blood boiling, Jensen fights to breathe, fights to keep his wits about him as Jared swallows him down. His fingers curl in the cheap bedsheets then into the mess of Jared’s tangled hair. Seconds later, Jared moves up his body to kiss with an intensity that represents five years of lost time. Jensen’s mind spins as Jared takes over his mouth and sets his hips down to Jensen’s and slowly rocks against him. Even with briefs still on Jared’s slender hips, Jensen can feel the burning heat of Jared’s hard cock. Jensen slides his fingers down Jared’s back and just inside Jared’s underwear. He gropes and squeezes and tugs at Jared’s ass to bring him as tightly close as possible so they can grind together. 

Jared whimpers into his mouth then runs wet kisses along Jensen’s cheek until he licks over Jensen’s ear. Whispers, “Where’s the lube?”

Jensen clenches his eyes shut and pathetically laughs. “I don’t have any.”

He breaks away from Jensen and rises to stare at him. Maybe even glare. “Are you fucking serious?”

Jensen makes a face and shrugs. “I’m sorry?”

Jared rushes off the bed and Jensen curses himself as his lungs become impossibly tight. His heart may even be breaking to lose this reconciliation all because he didn’t pack properly. “I only had like five minutes, you know? With Elba standing over me. Not like I could pack the right provisions.”

“Shut up,” Jared commands as he returns. He yanks Jensen’s underwear all the way down, followed by his own, and settles in the spot that’s probably still warm from Jared’s furnace of body heat. 

Jensen yelps when his legs are lifted into the air, followed by wretched moaning when Jared licks clear across Jensen’s hole. Warm spit runs down Jensen’s skin as Jared pays proper attention to the tight muscle, doing his best to work his tongue inside. Jensen grunts when Jared’s finger pushes through and moves quickly, perhaps a little too quickly, but then the pressure is eased with some extra moisture. 

Jared chuckles, smiles devilishly as he meets Jensen’s eye. All while he fingers his way inside, all the way down to the last knuckle. “Your frou-frou hair shit finally has a purpose.”

A laugh is punched out of his chest, followed by another loud groan when Jared gets a second finger inside. It seems to take forever for the third, and for Jensen’s body to open and relax to the pressure. Even longer, still, until Jared lotions up his dick with high-priced conditioner and slides inside. 

Jensen pulls Jared forward to kiss and lick all around his mouth, teeth scraping together, lips wet and messy. Just like their bodies as Jared fucks into Jensen quick and dirty, and Jensen ruts his body up like an eager teenager. The excitement and heat running through his body reminds him of their first time together, when it was too uncoordinated to be anything great, but it was Jared, so Jensen was more than satisfied by the end of it.

The bedsprings cry out as Jared’s hips snap faster and faster, shoving Jensen into the mattress. Jensen is entirely surrounded by Jared’s body, heat, arms, hair, skin just _everywhere_ , and with that feeling blanketing him, his muscles tense up with his orgasm running up on him. 

Jared whispers, “I’m gonna come, fuck me, I’m gonna come.”

Jensen eagerly answers, “Me, too, fuck, me, too.”

Jared cries out first, burying his head against Jensen’s neck and fucking through the last few moments of life. The deep rumble of Jared’s voice in Jensen’s ear is enough to get him there, and he comes, spilling between their bodies. 

Neither move for quite some time. Jared remains a heavy blanket over Jensen and is still buried deep, but Jensen wouldn’t have it any other way. Their chests press tightly as they catch their breaths, and Jensen runs his hands up and down Jared’s sweaty back, loving the little hitch of breath Jared lets out every few moments when Jensen hits a particularly sensitive area. He remembers all of Jared’s spots, too, and he smiles, grateful, satisfied, thoroughly fucked out.

 

 

He wakes to an empty bed and an even emptier heart. He stares at the blank wall and feels a far reach of distance between his back and the rest of the room. He’s startled by the sound of running water, so he flips over and belatedly grins at the sight of Jared standing at the sink and mirror, completely naked. The lines of his back, narrowing down to hips that beg to be held, just before Jared’s pert ass pops out and then thick, well-worked legs anchor him to the ground. 

Jared turns and Jensen’s mouth waters at the full-frontal view. Jared’s thick cock is hanging against his thigh, but Jensen’s just as happy to see the long stretch of that sculpted chest marred with bite marks and scratches from Jensen’s own teeth and nails. 

A tiny smirk angles Jared’s lips and Jensen winks at him, dragging out a quick laugh. 

Just as Jensen’s prepared to turn on the charm, call out a hearty _heya big boy_ , Jared snaps his lips together and breaks the moment. “I should head back.”

Jensen turns to his back with a groan. He brings his pillow up to cover his face and releases a shout into heavy cotton. When he drops the pillow down over his lap, Jared perches at the edge of the bed. 

“I have a job to do and all,” Jared argues. 

“Yeah, I get that,” he sighs, “But, can you, like, just stay for a _little_ while?”

Jared smiles. “Needy much?”

“Just come here and let me pretend the world’s not about to end?” Jensen’s heart is hollow with the plea, but he means it. And finally has the will to be open and honest with Jared. “Let me believe that I have you back for just a little longer?”

They stare at each other for seconds that are far too quiet and prolonged. Jensen fights for the right words, opening his mouth a few times to speak. Jared takes a deep breath then his eyes go soft. 

“Whatever you want,” he murmurs before stretching out on the bed beside Jensen. He shifts Jensen towards the wall then wraps his arms and legs all around him, keeping him covered up and held tight against warm skin. 

Jensen basks in the heat and comfort of Jared’s body enveloping him, of his soft kisses at Jensen’s shoulder and the top of his spine. He grips tight at Jared’s hands against his chest and thinks for this silent moment, he just may be whole again. 

Of course, Jensen doesn’t deserve it because Jared breaks the mood with his worries, even as he holds Jensen tight.

“Charlie thinks they’re breeding across classes.”

Jensen dips his head down and holds his breath. 

“He says the one that went at Katie and Aldis was mutated. Part of why we didn’t see it.”

“So, we’re pretty much dead,” Jensen mumbles.

“I can’t keep sending our friends out there,” Jared whispers at Jensen’s shoulder. “I can’t watch you guys come back hurt.”

Anger boils beneath the surface and Jensen wants to push Jared out of bed. Wayward jealousy rises and he pulls himself up to sit and glare at Jared. “Then don’t. Stop being the goddam Commander in a suit and lead us. Out there.”

Jared shifts up, too, and shakes his head. “What’re you talking about?”

“You can be as mad as you want about my leaving the program, but I came back. What’re you doing? Standing around and giving orders. You’re not fighting.”

“I’m doing what I can,” he fires back. 

“Is it what you want?” Jensen challenges. 

Jared sputters a few times before huffing. “What happened to pretending everything’s back to normal?”

“Is that what you want?” he repeats. “To just give orders and watch screens, or to be out there and fight those assholes?”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Nothing is.” Jensen can see the muscles work in Jared’s throat when he gulps. There’s a strong impulse to drag Jared back into his arms and hide away from everything outside these walls. 

“Yeah, of course not.” Jared sighs. After a long pause, he looks at Jensen with pitiful eyes and a deep frown. “How did we get here?”

“You brought up Day and his mutation theory.”

“I mean… in general.” He makes a face and punches the bed. “How did the world get here? With fucking monsters spontaneously attacking our shores?”

“I don’t know,” Jensen mumbles. He finally reaches out and grips Jared’s shoulder tight, squeezes and tugs with his fingers digging in. 

“Is it ever gonna stop?”

Jensen pulls Jared in, just like out on the scaffolding in the maintenance bay. His heart breaks for Jared’s pain, because he doubts Jared has it any easier than the rangers putting their lives on the line every time they step foot inside a jaeger. Jared’s the one ordering them to go, responsible for the fight and success of each one. He hadn’t thought that far into the terror of being the leader of such missions until he heard the desperation in Jared’s voice. 

“We could leave,” Jensen offers quietly, hoping he can take the words back if Jared doesn’t respond well. Luckily, Jared doesn’t say anything and just burrows closer to him. “We could leave together, get away from this mess and live somewhere out on the Atlantic, or somewhere deep inland.”

“Could you really do that? Walk away from the Corps again?”

“With you?” Jensen smiles against Jared’s hair and has to clear his throat against the emotion building. “I definitely could. I would right now.”

“I don’t know that I could,” Jared admits. “I’ve found my life here. Leaving them, knowing that the war continues while I live out on a farm doing nothing?”

It’s not the answer he wanted, but Jensen understands. And he tells Jared as such, just before they drift into a silence full of so many thoughts and prayers that are never said aloud.

 

 

When the alarm blares, Jensen and Jared jump out of bed without hesitation. Clothes are shoved back on and they race to the Ops station to the sounds of more system alarms and panicked conversations running over each other. 

“All hands on deck!” Jared shouts then gives another long smattering of directions for rangers and maintenance crews and aircraft to get ready for a big surge down on the eastern end of Mexico. As conversations continue to run, the Kaiju counts rise and rise, all sorts of classes, and a mess of damage along the Gulf of California.

Jensen doesn’t wait to hear what all is wrong now. Same shit, different day. He runs into the maintenance bay to get geared up, and every piece snaps into place, along with every sense of kicking ass and taking names.

Then he spots Chevy Violet just two maintenance slots away. His smile can’t be contained, even when she’s beat up and marred with burn marks and split metal, there’s no one else he’d rather pilot right now. 

“Tell Evans we’re taking my baby out today,” he yells to nearby maintenance staff. Manic energy carries him up all the levels of scaffolding until he’s inside Chevy Violet’s cockpit. It smells stale and smoky, the windshield is scummy and in need of a good wash, and the systems are a generation behind what he handled the day before in Captain America. 

He fucking loves her, and his smile is etched from ear to ear. 

Chevy Violet is set with all systems go and Jensen’s ready to put his helmet on when he yells, “Where the fuck is Evans?”

Operations and maintenance teams keep moving on without confirmation, so Jensen uses his headset to ask back at the Ops center. 

“He’s in the Captain,” Rob replies. “Where are you?”

“In Chevy Violet. Fuck, I told them to tell him and—”

“He’ll be fine,” is said behind him. 

Jensen can’t turn fast enough and immediately pinches himself to get out of this dream, because Jared settles into place, every piece of gear as shiny and bold as Jensen remembers.

“What’re you doing?” Jensen asks with a sense of fear, yet a whole barrel of hope.

“I was hoping to fight some assholes, but if you want me to leave...”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he growls. Then he’s full on pride that his words meant something to Jared, that they’re back in Chevy Violet together.

Jared’s smile grows into a technicolor beam and Jensen finds himself smiling just as hard in return. 

Sliding back into their past, they ready all the systems and report back to Ops with the all clear. 

They both have their helmets on, just seconds from drifting, and Jensen’s as giddy as a schoolgirl. 

Jared seems to be as well, when he turns to Jensen and tips his head with charm and light in his eyes. “You ready to kick some jaeger ass?”

“With you?” Jensen grins. “Always ready.”


End file.
